


The Grey Witch

by nornling



Series: The Year Before Tomorrow [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dark!Hermione, Gen, Grey!Hermione, Horcrux Hunting, POV Hermione Granger, PTSD, Time Loop, Time Travel, Time Turner, Unrequited Love, callous narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nornling/pseuds/nornling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time loops can be extraordinarily obnoxious. People, also, are aggravating. As luck would have it, one must deal with people to get out of a time loop. (Time Travel, Unrequited SB/HG)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Future- Blood Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> OK. Hello, everyone! A few warnings before we begin. Firstly, if you came here for romance, you will leave dissatisfied. If the HG/SB does become real here, it will be only briefly. That isn't to say there won't be love. If unrequited love is your thing, I think this may be the story for you. You'll understand what I mean later. Secondly, this may take a while to be completed. It's already been over a year. However, it will be completed, no matter how long it takes. I have everything outlined, so it shouldn't take too long. Just stick around. I'll try to get it done by the end of 2016, but no promises. Third and most importantly, thank you so much for reading this! Reviews, follows, and favorites are more appreciated than you know. If you have anything at all to say, please say it. If it's to tell me that my story is awful, that's cool. I would appreciate it if you'd tell me why, but just letting me know is great. If it's to point out plot inconsistencies or to ask questions, that's fantastic! Please do!

**_Chapter One_ ** **_\- The Future-_ ** _Blo_ _od Ritual_

Where there had been so much noise, there was now a silence which rang in the ears of every self-styled warrior. It was as if a spell had been cast, but there was nothing magical about the dumb shock choking out all sound.

No. _No_.

Harry.

Hermione Granger dropped down to the snowy ground, hardly aware of the freezing water soaking through the ragged knees of her jeans. She crawled, one filthy, scraped hand dragging her forward. The other would not support her weight, and she didn’t try to convince it to.  Harry, she needed to go to him, needed to help him—

Even that was denied her. A masked Death Eater reached down and pulled her up by her braid. The pain registered distantly. She didn’t struggle, not even when the Death Eater’s grip transferred from her hair to her wrists.

Her gaze, like everyone’s, was glued to Harry Potter’s prone, lifeless form. His face was turned toward Hermione. His eyes were open, cold.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. They were supposed to find a way to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, and then find the Diadem in the Room of Requirement and destroy it. They were supposed to go after Voldemort then. They never even got past Hogsmeade before someone raised the alarm.

She’d told him it was too dangerous, but Harry had been nearly mad in his grief over Ginny’s murder. He’d been furious with her for trying to stop him, and he’d decided that he was going with or without her. Hermione would have followed him anywhere, so she did.

For all the good their love had been, Harry was dead. He’d gone where she couldn’t follow.

The moment of hush had lasted only a few seconds. “This is your _Savior?_ ” Voldemort called. “This is what you’ve placed all your hope in?” He cackled, and that harsh sound triggered laughter around the street. Death Eaters laughed with relief, at first quietly and just one or two and then growing.

Hermione watched as Voldemort placed his bare foot atop Harry’s face, over his cheek, and pushed his face in the dirt. Voldemort met her eyes as he did so, and Hermione wanted to wipe the gloating triumph from his snake-like face. Her fists clenched and unclenched. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.

A sob caught in her throat, but she refused to cry. She couldn’t look anymore.

Harry wasn’t the only fallen comrade. Some of the villagers had come to help fight once they’d discovered that their Savior, the Face of the Light, was out there. Most of them lay dead in the dirt. It was a testament to the brevity of the battle that Hermione herself was still alive. She didn’t suppose that would last for long, her being a Mudblood.

The wind picked up, and with it came another scent besides blood and dust. Hermione had only a moment to make her decision, but she trusted her gut. She tore out of the Death Eater’s grasp and ran against the wind, pushing through the crowd to reach open air.

At last she could make out the pounding of many footsteps, and Hermione’s relief was so great she could have burst. The teachers and older students of Hogwarts had come to join the battle, led by Professor McGonagall. Their wands were drawn. Hermione darted forward and into the safety of their ranks, gripping her own wand in a shaking hand. She kept to the front, although every instinct told her to take refuge in the middle.

“You’ve come too late!” Voldemort crowed, and kicked the throat  of the corpse at his feet. “Your precious _Harry Potter_ is dead!” He seemed to take a perverse joy in the expansion of his audience, which didn’t surprise Hermione in the slightest. He’d always been one for theatrics.

Hermione watched Professor McGonagall in her peripheral vision. The older woman’s face crumpled, seeming to age before Hermione’s eyes, but she pulled herself out of her sorrow and hardened. She raised her wand and flicked her wrist, sending the first spell. As if that were a signal, the lightshow resumed, and through it all Voldemort laughed, high and exultant.

“Reducto!” Hermione cried, sending a spell of her own into the opposing mob. She and the Headmistress exchanged glances for a brief moment before moving together, bodies twisting to avoid the worst of the returning volley but never separating too far or too long. When Hermione could spare the thought power, she admired the precision and might  of Professor McGonagall’s spellwork.

As impressive as their leader was, it wasn’t enough. They were losing too many. Hermione knew it, the Headmistress knew it, but Hermione refused to let go. With a small army at her back she’d regained her determination, and with the rush of adrenaline came the boil of vengeance. She may not be able to kill Voldemort, but she might just be able to cripple his forces.

“Retreat!” Professor McGonagall cried, and those who were still alive fell back. Hermione did not, even when Professor McGonagall stopped covering her back. “I said _retreat_ , Hermione!” A hand grabbed Hermione’s arm with unearthly strength and pulled, and Hermione howled with rage as the Headmistress Apparated them both away.

*|II8II|*

It took days of gruelling effort, but they took back Hogwarts. That was a fair consolation prize to Professor McGonagall. The fraction of students who still lived were sent home, and only fighters remained. The castle was cold with its dearth of living beings, and even colder with the drastic increase in the dead. The ghosts were often confused and afraid, sometimes angry, and the first weeks of living in the castle were spent soothing them.

In the meantime, Hermione watched as the Light collapsed, family by family. They surrendered easily, and as much as Hermione wanted to she couldn’t blame them. Without Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter the morale had disintegrated overnight. Professor McGonagall did her best, but it wasn’t enough.

The outside world had changed. Voldemort and his army ruled over Wizarding Britain, and within days the newspapers stopped printing about the people’s fear and started printing propaganda. Hermione read them anyway, searching for the bits of truth the writers may let slip.

Among those who spoke the truth, whether in whispers or in graffiti, Voldemort gained a new name. When he wasn’t called the Dark Lord, he was called the Cold One. His old monikers, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who,  vanished from conversation. He was no longer an evil in the shadows. Everyone knew his face, now, and his word was law.

Most had given up, stopped resisting, in the hopes that their lives and their children's’ lives would be spared. It was, perhaps, the intelligent choice, but Hermione would never join their numbers. She had nothing left to lose. She would sooner die than bow her head to him. Even if she did, she didn’t have the advantage of good breeding. She would likely be killed either way. Voldemort’s world had no place for her.

At least she wasn’t alone. Many of her professors had stayed behind to fight at Professor McGonagall’s back, effectively abandoning the rest of their lives. She walked among them as their equal.

“Call me Minerva,” insisted Professor McGonagall shortly after the official Surrender. "You are no student, not anymore."

Hermione didn’t want to let that piece of her life go, but she accepted the offer anyway.

*|II8II|*

It was a lucky shot, from someone else’s opponent, and Minerva went down.

Hermione dragged Minerva out of the way of further damage. Tears dripped down her face and mingled with the blood on the stone ground as she tried helplessly to heal her. "Minerva? Minerva, stay with me. We need you here." Her voice trembled as she applied spell after spell.

Minerva died anyway. Hermione didn't know enough to save her. She never knew enough, in the end.

*|II8II|*

“Hermione? Please come out. You need to eat something.” Pomona Sprout knocked on the doors in a fluttery one-two-three, and Hermione looked up, wondering whether she should have revised her wards to block out sound. This wasn’t the first time someone had come by to check on her.

Pomona was likely just as frazzled as Hermione was. Hermione knew that, knew that she wasn’t alone in her grief, but it didn’t make her feel better. In fact, she hated it, hated that this emptiness wasn’t her burden alone to bear, hated that anyone else had to feel this way.

It had been days, and Hermione had taken that time to surround herself with books. The titles ranged from such benign topics as **_The Delicate Art of Healing_ ** to **_Blood Wards_ ** and everything in between. The wall was so high that Hermione could no longer see her surroundings, and she liked it better that way.

“Please, Hermione, you’ll waste away in there. I know you’re grieving, but you don’t have to do it by yourself. “

Hermione closed her eyes, ignoring how her eyelids felt like sandpaper. She was wrung out. There were no tears left to cry. But to crawl out of her hole and rejoin the world, to find another leader to follow, to look her comrades in the eye and have them all know that she hadn’t been able to save Minerva— it was a harrowing idea. She wasn’t ready.

“We need someone, Hermione. Please.” There was a new note in Pomona’s voice, a helpless plea. She sounded so small, so scared.

She was saying that Hermione wouldn’t need to find someone to follow. She was saying that Hermione had  been chosen to lead.

No, of course not. She couldn’t possibly accept that, couldn’t accept that responsibility. She wasn’t even nineteen! She didn’t know enough, wasn’t wise enough, _she couldn’t lead them_.

But it wasn’t up to her, was it? Who would take Minerva’s place if not her? Who would be able to lead? Who had that kind of strength?

Hermione pushed herself to her feet, feeling the frailty of her muscles as they barely managed to hold her up. She flicked her wand, sending the books back to their places. Her vision swam, but Hermione grit her teeth and dragged herself to the door. The moment she released the wards, Pomona yanked the doors open and caught Hermione in a motherly embrace.

Some time later, she woke up in the Hospital Wing. Madame Poppy Pomfrey bustled around her bed, preparing a set of potions. She was the only patient, so Hermione felt it was safe to assume that they were for her.

"Drink these," Poppy ordered, and Hermione complied. "Not too pleasant, I take it?" she added as Hermione shuddered. The taste was fine, but the texture was rubbery and she was sure that it squeaked all the way down her throat.

"No," Hermione agreed.

Poppy frowned. “I’m sorry. The Potions Master  traditionally brews my supply, but now that Horace is gone... well,  I was only ever taught efficiency.”

“There’s no need to apologize. We’re all so grateful that you’ve stuck with us. How our potions taste is the least of our troubles.” Hermione offered a reassuring smile, and Poppy returned it.

“Thank you, Hermione. You know, we need you here, too. You’re the last of... of...”

“The Golden Trio,” Hermione finished, her voice too steely.

“No, it’s more than that. With Minerva gone, you’re the last... the last one who can lead us.” Poppy turned away, wiping at her eyes.

Hermione could say nothing to that. What would she? That it was an honor, being chosen as the new Face of the Light? Their Golden Granger? It wasn't an honor. She wanted her friends back. She wanted to go back to being the brains behind the Golden Trio. The fighting and heroics were best left to Harry and Ron.

Perhaps that's why she was the only one left, she thought.

A few moments passed. Hermione leaned back onto her pillow, eyebrows knit together. Poppy was trying to get her tears back under control. "What were you reading, in there?" Poppy asked finally.

The half-truth came easily to her lips. "Healing," she said.

"Oh, my dear girl," Poppy murmured, and pulled her into a hug.

She tried not to, but Hermione clutched at Poppy desperately, pressing her face into the matron’s shoulder in order to hide her sobs. She was no longer at liberty to be forthcoming with her emotions or motives. She would have to hide part of the truth, because she was all that was left. Just like Minerva had been, and Harry before her, and Dumbledore before him, she needed to be pure and righteous and strong, worthy of being the general of what remained of the Light. No one could know anything more.

*|II8II|*

They were somewhere in a Muggle neighborhood, doing their best to protect the Muggles from a small assembly of Death Eaters. As far as Hermione could tell, only lower-level Death Eaters had shown up for this revel, and some hadn’t even had a Dark Mark.

It was the seventh battle since Minerva’s death, and Hermione’s fighters followed her cues naturally by then. There were so few of them left, and Hermione lost more every time they left the safety of Hogwarts.

Pomona stressed constantly about Hermione’s lack of regard for her own well-being. Hermione could admit that she did have a point; they couldn’t afford to lose their general. Still, Hermione refused to stay behind or hide. How could she live with herself if she put her fighters in the way of dangers she wouldn’t face herself?

She dispatched her opponent easily with a vicious Reducto through the head. The body dropped, and Hermione swore she saw the glimmer of his magic leaving him.

“Exentera!” she heard, and she spun around to block the sickly green spell with a shield which was perhaps overkill.

 _Occide_ , she cast without thinking. The curse left her wand before she regained her equilibrium, and she watched with some regret as her opponent’s molecular structure separated. The process was sadistically slow, beginning with his wand hand and ending at his heart. He couldn’t even scream, which was good for her. Casting such Dark spells where she could be seen by her comrades was a very, very bad idea.

Hermione looked away from the dissipating dust which was once a person and glanced around her. No one was facing her way except for—

Aberforth Dumbledore met her eyes from several meters away, sending dread coursing through her system. He’d seen what she’d done.

Later, once the battle was over (it was a victory, for once, and there were few casualties), Aberforth approached her. She separated herself from a small cluster of people, shaking her head. “Not where the others can hear,” she said as soon as she was out of easy earshot, trying to sound strong and confident.

“I know,” he said. He flicked his wand, casting a Muffliato. “I must congratulate you. That’s a difficult spell to cast under the best of circumstances. Have you been practicing?”

She had, but that was besides the point. “How do you—”

"Don't take me for a fool, Granger," he interrupted, raising one bushy eyebrow. "I may be Albus's brother, but I'm nothing like him."

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry," she said automatically. "So you've... you've studied it, too?"

Aberforth shrugged. "What? Dark magic? I've lived through more wars than this one. I've picked up some things, things that you won't be able to find in books."

Hermione blinked, hoping she was catching his drift. “Are you offering to teach me, then?” She was uneasy hearing the term “Dark magic” from his mouth, spoken so matter-of-factly. Although it was the truth, Hermione didn’t want to connect it to _her._ Her intentions weren’t Dark, after all. _She_ wasn’t Dark. Nevertheless, she had never been one to run from an opportunity simply because it would be unpleasant, and now wasn’t the time to break the trend.

“Come to the pub,” he said, more succinctly than Hermione liked, and canceled the Muffliato with a flick of his wand.

Ignoring what was left of her squeamishness, Hermione visited him that night. He taught her almost every night since.

*|II8II|*

"Getting tired, _Mudblood_?"

Hermione didn't respond, because she was. She needed to conserve breath. _Carnificor_ , she cast nonverbally. Blue light shot toward her opponent, Dolohov, and he narrowly dodged it. A grunt of rage reached her ears. It was probably too much to hope that the Death Eater would be consumed with fury and make a mistake. Dolohov wasn't the type.

Dolohov was a gifted fighter, more because of his creative spellwork and stamina than his magical talent. Hermione wasn't half bad either, despite originally being only average in dueling. Practice forced her to become talented. It was either that or die, and Hermione didn't plan on dying anytime soon.

She dodged the familiar green Avada Kedavra spell with relative ease, but she didn't see the blue light behind it until it was too late. It hit her squarely in the chest.

It was not painful in the way that the Cruciatus was painful. It felt more like something something was being pulled out of her. Perhaps it was her soul, or her heart, or something so intrinsic to her sense of self that she could not survive without it. Hermione fell to her knees with a strangled sound. She saw Dolohov approaching from the edge of her vision, and she knew that he would kill her. That couldn't happen. She wouldn't allow it.

The first blow landed in her stomach. All the breath left her lungs at once, and she tried to curl in on herself. He closed his fist around a huge chunk of her hair and pulled her up before kneeing her in the face. Somehow, some way, she'd managed to keep ahold of her wand.

" _Petrificus...Totalus_ ," she whispered, so low she could barely hear it herself. What little energy she had left was drained, and Hermione couldn't move as Dolohov's arms snapped together and he fell forward onto her. His eyes followed her movements as she pushed him off of her with no little effort.

She didn't have much strength, but she had enough to stand and kick the Death Eater in the side of his head. The light left his eyes, but she knew he was merely unconscious.

Hermione didn't have much time. She needed to get back to the Hog's Head. Without her magic, how would she do that?

There were several options. She could attempt Apparition, but she wasn't sure she would manage not to Splinch herself. The Knight Bus was no longer safe for a warrior of the Light, so that was out. The creation and use of Portkeys were highly regulated by the Ministry, so she and Aberforth hadn't been able to create one prior to the mission and she certainly couldn't make one then. Even if the Floo system weren't also incredibly unsafe for her, there wasn't exactly a fireplace anywhere nearby. She was in the middle of the woods, after all.

Perhaps... Perhaps her magic would allow her one last spell. "Accio broom," she incanted, fixing an image of one of the school brooms in her head. Details would be bad, in this case, as the more vague her request the more likely she was to get the closest magical broom rather than a specific one.

It took a little longer than she was used to, but finally a broom zoomed into her hand. It looked old and shabby, with much of the polish worn away and the bristles standing out at right angles. As long as it was functional it could have been covered in slime for all she cared.

Hermione sat on the broom gingerly, bracing herself mentally for the long trip ahead of her. Merlin, she hated flying.

Would it even get into the air? Harry would have been able to do this, no problem. She kicked off of the ground as she'd seen Harry do so many times. Despite her doubts, the broom did begin to rise. It lurched slightly at first, but became more steady once she rose above the treetops.

It was bitterly cold. Hermione's hands turned numb and she could no longer feel the wood against her skin. The wind played havoc with her hair, blowing it over her face and whipping it around. The ground was so far below her... How long would she have to do this?

She managed it. An immeasurable time later, she spotted the lights in the village of Hogsmeade. Only luck had kept her upright at several points, and when she touched down in front of the Hog's Head she felt the urge to kiss the ground.

The Hog's Head was a pub in the quiet wizarding town of Hogsmeade. Aberforth Dumbledore owned it, and had for as long as anyone could remember. It had gone out of business once Voldemort took over, but Aberforth kept it as a residence and their headquarters.

"Aberforth?" she called upon entering the pub. It was completely devoid of customers, as it had been for more than two years.

He was in front of her immediately, leading her upstairs to his room. They both sat on his bed. Aberforth healed her with unusual care, and then demanded to know what had happened. "Perfect," he stated once she was done, a rare grin on his face.

Hermione waited patiently for him to explain.

"There's a ritual," Aberforth announced. "I hadn't wanted to use it before, but the circumstances are near-perfect as of now."

The young woman waved her hand in a "get on with it" gesture.

"I would have had to drain your magic, then use that and multiply it." Aberforth's eyes were shining. He was truly excited, truly happy, for the first time since the Surrender four years before. Hermione was reluctant to ruin it, but she had to point something out.

"But the magic isn't here to use," Hermione said.

Aberforth didn't stop smiling. "And that's good. The more magic you rip from a wizard, or a witch, the more damage there is, both physically and mentally. There's also the chance that you don't take all of it or that you take more than just magic. It's very hard to pull off, especially with the more powerful."

Hermione's mind finally decided to be useful. "And because I have less than half of my magic left, it would be almost guaranteed to work, or, at least, not leave me a vegetable." Hermione shared his smile, starting to feel more confident in the ritual. "Wait— what would my magic levels end up being, after?"

He patted her hand. "It's called 'Thousand-fold', but that's not entirely accurate. It's only roughly a third of that."

The witch was speechless, for the first time in a long while.

"That's… a lot," Hermione finally said.

"If magic were a value, and your original value was one hundred, we could estimate that your 'magic value' would be about thirteen-thousand, if we assume you have forty percent of your original. Roughly, again. That would be... about a thirty-two thousand percent increase, give or take five hundred percent."

That was another thing that Hermione hadn't guessed about Aberforth: he loved mathematics, and they were his favorite way of explaining things.

"Of course, we don't know any exact numbers, but we could assume that your magic would be, well, very, very advanced."

"What's the catch, besides possibly becoming mangled and insane? Why hasn't it been performed by Voldemort, at least?" Hermione bit her lip. Perhaps there was something in his tone, or in his expression, or just plain instinct, that told her that something was missing here. Something vital. Something possibly deadly.

"It also requires having an intact soul. And copious amounts of the Object's blood. And pure intent. See?"

She nodded determinedly. Her mind was still pinging at her, but she put it down as paranoia and a lack of studying the ritual in question. Aberforth had never given her reason to doubt him, even if this was Blood Magic.

"Also, Hermione- the earlier we do this, the better. Your magic will already be trying to regenerate."

"Mm."

Aberforth went to retrieve the athame, then cut very deep into her arm.

The agony was blinding. When her vision cleared, Aberforth held up a cloth, hopefully clean, to use as a gag. This told her that more pain was coming. Hermione nodded her assent, and opened her mouth. The old man stuffed the cloth into it. It tasted like dust and salt, but Hermione didn't care. Nothing was worth being found here.

Words in languages that Hermione had never heard flowed from his lips. The pain grew exponentially worse with every breath, until she couldn't hear, either. It ramped up, higher and higher, until it reached its peak. At that moment, it began to fade, ebbing away.

She could hear again, and she could see. Hermione immediately wished that she couldn't.

Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes looked deep into her own, full of fierce glee and her trademark vicious sadism.

_"Crucio!"_

If Hermione's little cousin had ever been wrong about anything, it was that fighting was fun. Hermione could have told him firsthand that no, it really, really wasn't anywhere close to _fun._ His grinning, impish face appeared in the darkness beneath her eyelids, and he raised the twig in his hands in a salute. She'd laughed back then, laughed and told him to be careful that he didn't put out someone's eye.

She'd heard before that obscure memories came out when one is in a lot of pain, or in life-threatening situations.

It certainly seemed to apply.

Hermione wanted to just fade out of consciousness, fade out of existence, for all she cared. Anything to make it stop would be just fine by her.

Her arm hurt, badly. Worse than anything Bellatrix was doing to her.

Bellatrix bent down and grabbed her hair, pulling Hermione up to her feet. The younger girl didn't struggle; most of the fight was gone from her.

"Aww, you're no fun anymore," Bellatrix pouted, staring into Hermione's blood-covered face. Wasn't she too old for this? Pouting was not an expression one would expect from a woman who was well on her way to half a century.

 _Merlin, I just want a shower,_ Hermione thought. It was hard to keep her mind focused. Her vision blurred and smeared at the edges, a vignette framing Bellatrix's sneering face.

It was a defense mechanism, she supposed. Think of anything but what you really have to.

Bellatrix pulled back on her head harshly, and Hermione's mouth opened in a silent scream. Sound tried to escape, but it was choked into nonexistence when Bellatrix pulled out a knife and showed it to her, tracing it over her cheek without drawing blood. Hermione could do nothing to keep the maniac from bringing the knife down and carving designs on her neck.

The pain was so intense that Hermione couldn't keep from thinking about it. How she'd gotten there. What she'd done. How long it had been. All the things she was trying so hard not to think about.

Ron had gone first. Poor Ron Weasley, with the red hair that made it near impossible to win at hide-and-seek, one of her best friends, and the boy she'd been so close to loving. He was buried in some forest somewhere, with only a stone to mark his grave. They'd tried to find a pretty one, at least, but the best they could come up with was a rock the same color as the soil around them.

Then it was her and Harry, on the run again. What should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts came and went, camping in forests and in caves, trying to hide from everyone. The Locket Horcrux made them both irritable and thinking rationally became harder. They turned eighteen, and everything went to shite.

Ginny died in her seventh year, and Harry couldn't wait any longer. Hermione wanted to warn Harry not to go, but who was she to look into his feverish, grieving eyes and tell him that he shouldn't end the war? That was how it would have sounded, to him. So they invaded Hogwarts, just the two of them, and watched as more lives were taken, helpless to save anyone.

One death changed everything, and that was Draco Malfoy's. He died at Rodolphus Lestrange's hands for betraying Voldemort by harboring the two remaining thirds of the Golden Trio. One thing that no one anticipated was that Draco would have been the Master of the Elder Wand, and Voldemort took action immediately, killing the new Master.

But he and Hermione hadn't known about that. Her best friend left in the world challenged Voldemort with vengeance blazing in his eyes, and died with an almost betrayed look in those same, now cold, emeralds.

Aberforth Dumbledore was quite possibly her only ally, now. They worked together to make a plan, taking tiny actions to help it along. The pair became quite skilled at killing without implicating themselves. She'd made a mistake. She hadn't killed Dolohov, and they traced her back here. She was an idiot.

Bellatrix huffed and plunged the knife into Hermione's stomach, shattering Hermione's already-strained focus. The real world appeared in front of her again in too-sharp relief.

Aberforth was barely holding his own, Hermione saw. She desperately wished she could help him, but she was absolutely useless at the moment, even if her magic hadn't been gone.

But, watching this, Hermione felt her cause return to her. She would kick, scratch, and bite her way to freedom, for her and for the entire bloody Wizarding world— if only she could move.

There was the Cruciatus again. It wasn't even close to the pain from the ritual, but it was still pure and undiluted. When she heard the sound of her own scream, she realized that the gag was gone.

She watched her partner-in-crime suffer under the same spell, falling to his knees and then further, until his face pressed into the floor. She didn’t watch Bellatrix point her wand straight at Hermione's heart.

"Blue citrus goat dander!" Aberforth gasped loudly, writhing in clear agony. His voice cracked, but he managed to get the words out.

Hermione felt a spot over her heart glow white-hot, and then she was gone, from consciousness and from that time.


	2. Year I- Crash Landing

_** Chapter Two ** _ _**\- Year I-** _ _Crash Landing_

When she woke up, the first thing Hermione noticed was the splitting headache. It took her a few moments to convince herself that she was strong enough to be able to move or even just open her eyes.

She was alone. Aberforth was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the Death Eaters. There was no trace of any of them, not even the blood Hermione had been sure covered the bed and the carpet.

Her eyes were drawn next to the mass of blood and gore that covered her arm from shoulder to wrist. She tentatively explored the area with her other hand, searching for the knife wound from the ritual. The skin was smooth and unblemished under her fingers, and the blood was already beginning to crust over and pull at the tender flesh.

Who would have healed her? Bellatrix wasn't exactly the type, and neither were the other Death Eaters. It was a wonder she wasn't dead, after all. What could their purpose be? Hermione was unchained and unbound, which she tested by standing and moving around the perimeter of the room. Her balance was all wrong, but she ignored it.

She tried the handle on the door, and it turned easily. They hadn't locked her in. What were they playing at?

When she took her hand away, she noticed the smear of blood she'd left behind. She found her wand in her pocket and cast a silent _Scourgify._ Her magic barely rose to her command, and the stains remained.

Hermione frowned, casting the spell again. The results were no better. Panic began to bubble in her chest, and she settled on the ground again, working on her breathing. What in Merlin's name was going on?

The answer came to her, then, and she almost smacked herself at how obvious it was. It was the _ritual_ , of course. They had been interrupted, it hadn't been completed. That was the logical explanation for the definite lack of magic in her reserves.

Where was the magic, then, if not inside her once more? She didn't sense it crackling around her as she had before she'd lost consciousness. Perhaps it was part of whatever Aberforth had done? How had he done that, anyway? What was the significance of those odd, random words her friend had shouted at her? And the hot glow over her chest- what was that?

She could assume that Aberforth had tried to get her out of mortal danger. That would explain why she wasn't being tortured right that second, but there were too many possibilities and all of them were far-fetched, complicated pieces of magic. Aberforth was good at finding those and putting them to practical use. Anything could have happened, really.

One final look around the familiar room convinced her that she wouldn't find any answers by staying put. Hermione pulled herself to her feet again, using the wall to help support her weight. She opened the door, prepared to step out in the hallway, but stopped when she noticed the sudden enormous amount of noise echoing up from downstairs. That wasn't right at all. The pub hadn't been that noisy since the weeks following the Surrender. The Hog's Head hadn't been a place of business for years.

It must be the Death Eaters, she thought. Who else would it be? They would come back to check on her soon, undoubtedly. She had no idea why she'd been left unmonitored, unchained, and healed, but she wasn't interested in those things changing.

She had just resolved to make her way downstairs, just to check, when she heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. A light head of hair appeared, and Hermione panicked, diving backwards into Aberforth's bedroom, and kicking wildly at the door even as she fell flat on her arse. It didn't shut all the way, but she supposed that wasn't important. She pulled herself to her feet and grabbed a chair. She stood by the threshold, prepared to fight anyone who would come through. They had seen her, she was sure of it, and any moment she would be fighting for her life again. She could feel her pulse beating through her wrists.

"Knew the old man had to be getting some. Just didn't think he'd go so young," an unfamiliar voice slurred. He wasn't a Death Eater that she recognized, and he didn't even hesitate at the door. The footsteps faded away, and the sound of another door slamming made Hermione jump.

What did he mean, "so young"? Hermione was nearly twenty-one, and she knew for a fact that she looked even older. The stress of the war and the scars she'd collected ensured that. Even if he was drunk, he should have thought her older rather than younger.

At the thought of her scars Hermione glanced down at her arm, expecting to see the familiar word, _Mudblood._ Nothing. It wasn't there.

That just wasn't possible. Bellatrix had used a cursed blade, and all the efforts of Britain's best healers hadn't been able to remove it.

Something was wrong. She had thought she would have to live with that scar forever, and its absence unnerved her.

A mirror. She needed a mirror.

She found one in the bathroom and promptly felt her legs turn to gelatin. Hermione felt dizzy, and sat back on her heels. One hand was on the floor to steady her, and the other poked and prodded her face to see if it was real.

It was. Oh, Merlin, it was.

Hermione lifted her shirt to find Dolohov's curse scar still marring the skin under her ribs. It was raw and angry as it had been for the months after they'd broken into the Department of Mysteries. She had been sixteen then.

Her eyes teared up suddenly. The intensity of the emotions swirling around inside of her was surprising. She had thought herself to be deadened inside, but that clearly wasn't the case. Not anymore.

Hermione looked so... _young._ The war hadn't really opened its arms to her fully at sixteen, and it showed. The only thing missing was the optimism she'd always carried in her eyes.

Why was she in the body of her younger self? What could Aberforth have been thinking?

A question hit her hard, and caused her to let out a sob that she quickly muffled.

What if she'd truly gone back to when she was sixteen? Before the war had spiraled out of control and everything turned grey and hopeless? That would be just like Aberforth, really. Why bother with temporary measures? She may as well escape to a time when she could fix things.

A time when Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Dumbledore were still alive.

DUMBLEDORE! She could find him, warn him! They could prevent all of the death and suffering together! He was just brilliantly kooky enough to believe her.

Hermione was at the window in a flash, beginning to get the hang of her new center of balance. There were people outside- laughing! Playing!

She must have been sent back in time. It was the only logical explanation!

The girl crept downstairs, still wary of being noticed, if nothing else.

There was Aberforth, serving drinks at the counter. He wouldn't recognize her as herself, of course. Perhaps he would know her from that first DA meeting, but that wasn't overly likely.

Customers, none of which she recognized, crowded the tables and the bar. No one looked her way.

With a bright grin and a renewed sense of vigor, Hermione wiped all traces of despair off of her cheeks and stepped outside.

After standing in the crisp air for a moment, just looking, Hermione realized several things. The first was that Madame Puddifoot's was gone. Instead, there was a small store called Harry's. Her eyebrows furrowed. During her time at Hogwarts, they definitely would have noticed if a building had appeared bearing Harry's name.

The second was that a buxom blonde was currently dragging a shady-looking young man out of the Three Broomsticks. Her features were remarkably similar to Madame Rosmerta's, but, well, younger. Hermione wondered if Madame Rosmerta had had a daughter that Hermione had never known about. The woman was old enough, she supposed, but it didn't make much sense. Then again, Hermione had never gone to Hogsmeade during the summer. Perhaps the significantly younger relative only visited in those months.

The third was that she recognized no one. Normally there was at least one person that Hermione knew, but this was not the case. She was on her own, at least until she found Harry or Ron.

How would she explain the tears that would inevitably appear once she saw them?

Oh, well. What would happen, would happen. It wasn't as if they were particularly observant, anyhow. If she hid it well, they would never notice.

Hermione only realized that she'd been standing in the threshold of the Hog's Head for a good few minutes when a man covered in bandages swung the door open to leave, crashing heavily into her in the process.

Her wand was out and ready to fire in the fraction of a second it took for her to realize that this was neither the time nor the place, even if she would have been able to get her magic to react to her will.

Frowning sheepishly at no one, Hermione put her wand away. She moved away from the door, looking around for somewhere to go.

Hogwarts? Why not! Anything was possible!

She had to keep herself from skipping up the long path to the castle. Everything looked so much brighter. There were people, actually loitering and talking instead of going about their business quickly and heading back to their homes. Hermione could virtually taste the hope in the air, and she decided that nothing was better.

When she caught sight of the heavy, iron, and likely enchanted chains wrapping around the gate that surrounded the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione stopped short, realizing the flaw in her plan. How would she get past the gate?

After a moment of thought, Hermione took out her wand and stared at it. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," she said, expecting to feel the same minimal response from her magic as she'd felt when she'd previously attempted even a simple spell. Instead, a steady stream of magic rose within her and flowed through her wand. If it felt more taxing than she was used to then she couldn't complain. The mist coalesced into an otter, waiting for orders.

"Er... Professor Dumbledore. I, Hermione Granger, seek entrance... I'm at the gate," she started, fighting to keep a tremor out of her voice. She couldn't believe it had _worked!_ "I'm not a risk. I don't know how to prove that to you from here, but I give you my word. Please feel free to test me until you're convinced I'm telling the truth. I'll tell you my story, too, but first I need to get past the gate."

The otter leaped up and sped to one of the towers. Hermione recognized it as the Headmaster's office, and settled down to wait. It wasn't a long wait, as Professor Albus Dumbledore himself came to meet her within a few minutes.

Dumbledore didn't immediately recognize her as Hermione had thought he would. Instead, they spent several moments eyeing each other.

"Professor? Are you all right?" Hermione finally asked, frowning.

The old man- he certainly didn't seem as old as she remembered- smiled beneficently. "I don't believe you're enrolled here," he said easily.

Hermione was confused. "Sir? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I haven't seen you here before, or at all, which is certainly odd, considering that you seem to know me." All of this was in the same tone Hermione remembered clearly from the last time she'd spoken to her Headmaster.

"Professor? What's today's date?" Hermione's voice rose an octave.

"June 23rd, 1976," Dumbledore replied with a sympathetic smile. "I suppose this comes as a surprise."

He was both right and wrong. It wasn't what she had expected, but, no, it wasn't a surprise. Too many things hadn't matched up to the information that Hermione knew she hadn't forgotten. She had thought that maybe she'd been sent to an alternate timeline, perhaps to one where her past self didn't exist, but this was different. As far as she knew, sending her back that far was impossible. Still, that was clearly what had happened. She felt a smile spread across her face. There were so many possibilities! She would affect far more than she would have had she appeared in 1996 like she'd originally thought.

"Thank you, sir. You wouldn't know me, then." She extended her hand. "My name is Hermione Granger, as I mentioned, and I seem to need schooling."

Dumbledore chuckled, clasped her hand, and shook it. "Very nice to meet you, Miss Granger. I'll see what I can do."

*|II8II|*

It was August 30th when she was finally allowed into the castle. Hermione had been staying in the Hog's Head. Aberforth and she had come to an agreement: Hermione could stay in a room upstairs if she worked as a maid and bartender. This involved cleaning the dishes, which Hermione was more than happy to do, and simply making sure that the glasses were clean brought quite a bit of business to the pub.

Aberforth began paying her. Not much, of course, only a few sickles every day or so, but Hermione was content.

"Mr. Dumbledore? I'm going to Hogwarts tomorrow, so I won't need the room."

"I see."

"I can still come down here and work, if you want."

"Hmm." He didn't ask how she would be able to get away from the castle. She didn't tell.

"Thank you, sir."

It was strange, calling her best friend "sir". But familiarity with a man five times her age in times that weren't as desperate as the ones she knew was not a good idea, especially since this Aberforth didn't know her.

Hermione smiled winningly at one of their regulars. He ordered another Butterbeer, returning her smile.

Living in her mother's era was almost natural. She and her mother had been very close before Hermione had gone to Hogwarts. Jean Granger had been Hermione's only friend growing up, and they told each other everything.

After magic came into Hermione's life, it became very clear that she couldn't tell her mother everything anymore. There were people who Jean would never understand, actions that she could never understand, and consequences that she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Hermione kept up the chatter for the first few years, but eventually ran out of things to say. Vacations were spent in awkward silence, and Hermione was miserable. She couldn't help but feel as if she'd lost her parents.

Erasing their memories only finished the job. She might as well have killed them. She felt just as guilty as if she had.

Still, Hermione could clearly remember Jean telling her about the older woman's adolescence. The waitress job she'd taken was low-pay and low-dignity, but she did it to pay her way through dental school. The woman had told her daughter everything about the bands, the fashions, the people, the government, the mind frame.

The brooding time-traveler couldn't help but wonder how much of the past had been revealed to cover up the present. Hermione didn't know much about either of her parents after her own birth.

"Another Firewhiskey, love!" called a man near the front of the room. Hermione popped the cork out of a new bottle of Ogden's finest and poured the contents into a spotless glass.

"Come and get it! You'd better pay for this one, Kendall! And that last bottle, I saw you take it when Aberforth was in the back." Hermione held out her hand, a stern look on her face.

With a grumble, Kendall Castor plopped five Galleons and three sickles into her hand. Hermione placed the coins in a drawer, slid the glass across the counter, and grinned widely at the man. He scowled at her, and she waved at him before he waddled unsteadily back to his table.

She liked this job quite a bit, despite the low salary. In only five weeks, the patrons came to respect and like her enough to pay her without argument and to, sometimes, flirt with her. She flirted back, of course, but never let them go any further than witty comments and sly winks.

It was late. Aberforth was banging things down in the cellar, nothing too frantic, or she would have worried.

There were more customers, and they were loud. Hermione smiled fondly at the room of people. Even little Mundungus Fletcher, a man she'd despised back when he was alive the first time, was under the umbrella of her affection.

Mundy was in the center of the room, completely pissed, bragging about nothing in particular to a group of equally-smashed wizards. Most of them were older than him. Hermione was glad he'd stopped trying to pull shite like that in the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta ran her inn with an iron fist, even as young as she was. Disorder was unacceptable there, but here it was the expectation.

Hermione wasn't even close to tired, but Aberforth came in and took over, shooing her to bed. "My brother isn't the most courteous man when it comes to privacy, or anything else, so you'll need your sleep. You're a fairly decent Occlumens, you should be all right." High praise, coming from him. It should be; he was the one who taught her, not that he knew that.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said, then trudged up the stairs and into her room, refusing to light the candles around the room.

She slipped into her sweatpants, nearly stumbling on them. It was much too dark to be standing on one leg, bent over at the waist, and occupying her hands with slipping the band at the bottom of the pant legs over her ankle. As anyone could have predicted, she toppled over, snagging the curtain on the way down. Moonlight streamed into the room.

Hermione gave an irritated flick of her wand at the mass of material on the ground.

Nothing happened.

"Reparo," she said aloud, waving her wand.

Still nothing.

She struggled her way into her sweatpants while remaining on the floor. Hermione got up, gave an angry kick in the curtain's general direction, then threw herself onto her bed.

Hermione groaned. Her magic hadn't worked at all since she'd cast the Patronus at the Hogwarts gate on her first day in the past, despite hoping that it would have regenerated at least a little.

The brightest witch of her age actually had a theory explaining why the Patronus had worked while the smaller, much easier spells didn't. Her magic reserves had remained the same, but her magic levels were much lower. It took a larger pull to get the magic to respond to her, as it was pooling at the bottom of her reserves. Easy spells didn't provide enough force.

Really, though, she'd hoped some would come back to her before she'd be attending a school for _magic_.

Hermione buried her face into her pillow. She was tired, and worried, and not at all up to the task before her.

*|II8II|*

"What are your impressions of your new professors?" Dumbledore asked casually. The corners of Hermione's mouth quirked upward in a thin smile. She knew that he was subtly asking, "Which of them have you met in your time?" Dumbledore knew better than anyone that the walls have ears.

"Professor McGonagall seems very much like she could be my favorite teacher." The girl waved her hand vaguely. "Professors Slughorn, Sinistra, Vector, Sprout, and Flitwick are also very agreeable, with Professor Slughorn being slightly less so."

Dumbledore nodded, his question answered.

Well, questions. Hermione had been answering them practically from the moment she stepped into the castle, about two-and-a-half hours ago.

The silence indicated that the Headmaster was satisfied.

"Let's get you Sorted, then," Dumbledore declared.

Hermione followed the old man to his office. She looked around thoughtfully. She'd only very rarely visited the Headmaster's office in her time, but it didn't seem to have changed much.

The time-traveler placed the Sorting Hat on her head, leaning against the desk.

**Hello, Hat.**

_Hello, Hermione. You've grown a bit, now, haven't you?_

**Mm. Enough to put me in a different House?**

_No, no, not yet. Perhaps soon._

**What in Merlin's name do you mean by that?**

_You'll know when the time comes. But, for now, you belong in_ _** GRYFFINDOR! ** _

Hermione pulled the Hat off of her head, resisting the urge to throw it, preferably into a fireplace.

Dumbledore's face pulled into a wide grin, causing all sorts of wrinkles to appear where there had been none before. "It seems that Professor McGonagall is your Head of House. Lucky, eh?"

"Yeah," Hermione muttered irritatedly. "Lucky."

*|II8II|*

"This," Minerva McGonagall announced, "is the Fat Lady, the portrait leading to the Gryffindor Common Room. Just say the week's password to her, and you will be granted access. The password is 'Mint Flower'. Questions?"

Hermione shook her head. Her posture was straight and stiff, perhaps confusing the older woman. Hermione tried not to be too obvious with her constant glances. It was good to see her so much younger, so much less tired.

"Mint Flower," Hermione stated confidently, and the portrait swung open. She became aware that the Fat Lady had been talking to her, and she felt slightly guilty for ignoring her.

Minerva walked with her into the Common Room. "That staircase is for the boys' dormitories, and that one is for the girls'. I strongly suggest you go and stake your claim on a bed before the others get here tomorrow."

Hermione smiled at her old sister-in-arms. "Thank you, Professor. I'm sure I'll be just fine up here."

The Gryffindor Head of House took the hint and left. The Portrait swung closed behind her.

Brown eyes surveyed the room. It wasn't too much different, aesthetically. There were still those same armchairs by the same fireplace. The red and gold still welcomed her, warm and inviting. Everything was quite a bit less shabby, which didn't surprise her. Twenty-odd years does take quite the toll on furniture.

Despite the familiar appearance, Hermione felt uncomfortable here. It _felt_ wrong. The last time she'd seen this room had been during the final major Hogwarts skirmish. The room had been blown apart. People had died here.

Even before the war was in full swing, the room was never a happy place. It was a dangerous one, full of people, any of whom could be a traitor.

Traitors. Ah, them. The silly men and women of Hermione's generation thought that no _Gryffindor_ could _possibly_ turn traitor.

Trust no one during a war.

Seamus Finnigan died here, at the hands of his best friend.

Tears blurred Hermione's vision, and she turned and left. She couldn't deal with this now.

*|II8II|*

The library was a sanctuary for Hermione, always had been. As anyone who knew her could have guessed, that was where she headed when she was troubled or upset. She practically lived there, from the time she could read.

Madame Pince was still on Holiday, Hermione had found out. She would arrive the next day just before the Feast.

It left Hermione completely and totally unsupervised.

A stack of books piled so high next to her on the table that it more than obscured her head. It was a miracle the damned things hadn't toppled over yet.

 _The Theories of Time and Space_ was open before the bushy-haired young woman. Her eyes flew over the lines and lines of small print, a frown marring her face.

It wasn't being very helpful, being mainly about Time-Turners and laws she already knew. Hermione hadn't expected it would apply, though. Her case was definitely a strange one, and she didn't know if any number of outdated, dusty tomes would help her.

Still, she kept reading.

_Oops, I'm In the Past. _ _Fates' Plans. _ _ The Laws of Time. _

Nothing worked.

Sunlight filtered in through the window. Hermione realized suddenly that she was beyond "tired" and into "zombie". Replacing the books exactly where she'd found them, Hermione stumbled her way to the Common Room. She collapsed onto a couch and immediately was dead to the world.


	3. Year I- Crumbled Foundations

**_ Chapter Three _ ** **_\- Year I-_ ** _Crumbled_ _Foundations_

"Miss Granger, the Welcoming Feast was mandatory for all students." Minerva stood in front of her, seeming more exasperated than annoyed.

Hermione squinted up at her, trying to banish the last remnants of sleep from her mind. She pushed herself up onto one elbow, feeling her weight sink into the well-worn couch. "Why? The schedules are handed out at breakfast, right?" She looked around the dimly-lit Common Room, realizing that they weren't alone. She'd completely missed the arrival of the other students, which had been the plan. Wait, if it was their first night back, and they were just now coming back from the Welcoming Feast, then why was Minerva there at all? Hermione remembered from reading **_Hogwarts, a History_** that the prefects always led the students back to their respective Common Rooms. This was to cement the idea from day one that the prefects were a benevolent authority. Having a teacher, and especially the Head of House, break that tradition surely lessened the effect. As curious as she was, asking questions weren't feasible. Allowing the others to become aware that she had intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Hogwarts and the psychological effects of aforementioned machinations would lead to queries about her background. It was far too early to err so colossally and unnecessarily.

Minerva raised one eyebrow and the side of her pinched mouth curved upwards, an expression that Hermione had come to recognize as well-concealed amusement. She did have a reputation to uphold as lacking completely in any sense of humor. "That is correct. However, you would have been presented, as every student is on their first day."

"It's too late for that now," Hermione said, sitting up. She rubbed at the side of her calf where the pattern of the couch cushions had been imprinted in her skin. "I'll go next year." The last two words were stretched out into a yawn, becoming nearly unintelligible.

Minerva seemed to get the gist. "I will hold you to that, Miss Granger. Have you eaten?"

Oh. The truth was, Hermione hadn't eaten at all since the day before. She knew it wasn't healthy, and it definitely didn't provide necessary brainpower. Her childhood, it had occurred to her in the past, had prepared her for the war. When she was younger, she skipped countless meals because she just _had_ to finish reading. When she became involved in the war, she skipped meals because there just wasn't enough food. Hunger was a staple of the times. Even having been in safer times for several months, old habits were hard to do away with. Still, she'd been asleep until just then, so she supposed it didn't matter all that much in the long run. "No, but I'm fine. I'll just go to breakfast in the morning."

The Transfiguration professor did not seem at all satisfied by that, but she still allowed it. "Go sleep in your dormitory, Miss Granger. It can get noisy down here, especially on the first night back."

Hermione knew all that, of course, and was struggling not to allow memories to overlay the image in front of her. It was safer to go up to her dorm; there were fewer memories, fewer distractions, and fewer questions up there. "Goodnight, Mi- Professor."

Classes began the next day, and Hermione forced herself into a sort of waking-dream state. That way, she would not be overwhelmed with the emotions that came with the memories. It also happened to be the easiest way to avoid the people she'd once known in the future, although that was an unintentional, if happy, outcome. Turning off her emotions was a coping mechanism that she used whenever a situation threatened to overwhelm her. She'd used it many times over the years. The downside was that when she decided it was safe to allow her emotions to come back, she would overload and spend several weeks struggling to rediscover her equilibrium. It wouldn't be uncommon for her to break down in tears or laughter over seemingly insignificant things. Constant irritation and intolerance strove to find balance with empathy and guilt. Hermione knew that during these times she was difficult to be around, and that that fact only gave her mind material to latch onto in order to cut away at her self-esteem. However, being a practical and level-headed person, she could usually counter such negativity with recollections of situations in which she'd helped others.

Even though no one bothered with her, everyone was curious about the new girl. Many were contemptuous, having no patience for someone who wouldn't even try to act normal. Others pestered her with questions over and over, as if she might answer if asked often enough. She gave no answers, which was easier than lying. Some took the hint and backed off, but others were only driven mad with unfulfilled curiosity.

Once a few weeks had passed, Hermione decided it was safe to allow her consciousness to awaken fully. She remained quiet, for no one expected her to speak and she didn't know what effect she'd have on the timeline if she were to make too large of an impact, but she was thinking- and feeling- properly and taking in her surroundings again.

It was several more weeks after her initial revival before the rest of the school was made aware. They were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione ignored the chatter around her entirely, focusing intermittently on the lesson.

"Tell me- what weaknesses do the Inferi possess, and how can such weaknesses be exploited?" the professor quizzed, actually glancing away from the board for the first time during the entire class. Habit almost made her hand fly up, but Hermione caught herself and looked around.

There were no hands fluttering in the air. Everyone was still.

Lily Evans was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed, trying desperately to come up with the answer. Her frustration was evident. It was no surprise; where would a girl like Lily even hear of the existence of Inferi, much less what they were and how to defeat them?

The time-traveler sighed, a steady release of air from her lungs. She raised her hand halfway, slowly, mimicking the casual manner of the other students.

"Yes? Miss Garner?" called the professor. There was a smile on his face that Hermione took to be one of relief.

Ignoring the man's misuse of her surname, she said, "The Inferi are creatures of the cold and dark, and are immune to many spells. However, they are vulnerable when exposed to light and warmth, so fire spells are very effective when defending against Inferi. En masse, they are extremely dangerous due to their superior strength. While not impervious to damage, they feel no pain and are afraid only of light and heat. It's best to cast spells like Firestorm to drive off a large group, or simple a simple Incendio to deal with a few."

The silence was complete, unnerving Hermione. It wasn't one of admiration or even surprise. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to interpret the expressions of the other students. It didn't take long, for such looks were familiar to her. During her years with Harry she'd witnessed suspicion and fear, on the micro and macro scale. Very rarely had these emotions been directed at her, and that in itself was new. Hermione shifted in her seat, struggling to act as if she didn't notice or care. She wasn't sure whether she had succeeded.

"Excellent, excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor," the man coughed. What was his name again? It started with a C or a K or something similar.

Hermione spent the time until the end of class tapping her fingers in a random pattern on her desk, oblivious to the curious gazes focused on her just then.

The professor looked up from the board, where he was writing down some tidbit of information that Hermione already knew. "Miss Granger?"

Still mindlessly tapping on the desk, she mumbled a response.

"Stay after, please. The rest of you may go."

Hermione came to stand beside Kablan's desk, nervously waiting for the room to clear. The chatter was subdued and, it seemed to Hermione, malicious. Ignoring it was impossible.

Kablan looked straight at Hermione, maintaining eye contact. He somehow managed to make her more uncomfortable than she already was. "I see you've taken my suggestion to heart. I hope to see this as a continued pattern, not merely a one-time event."

What suggestion? This had obviously occurred during her waking-dream weeks.

"Yes, Professor," she agreed. Calm, she reminded herself.

"Good. Now, where did you learn what you said a few moments ago?"

"A book, Professor."

"Not the textbook."

"No, Professor."

"What book, then?"

"I don't recall."

She did recall. Never mind Hermione's personal experience with the Inferi, she'd learned about them in **_The Thin Line Between Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Dark_ _Arts_** , a tome she'd come across in her grief over Minerva's death.

Hermione really had to remember not to call her that.

Professor Kablan sighed. "Very well. Please inform me if you ever remember."

"I will, Professor."

It occurred to Hermione, walking back to the Common Room, that Professor Kablan had asked that question without first introducing the topic, and without elaborating. Hadn't she just told herself that it was too early to mess up? One would think she would consider the consequences of her actions, being well known for doing exactly that. She should have kept her know-it-all mouth shut.

Tongues were wagging in the Great Hall during lunch that day. Hermione frowned; she hadn't intended to cause a commotion, but intentions didn't change anything. That wasn't her purpose.

Sitting cautiously in an empty section of the bench at the Gryffindor table, Hermione marked the position of every person in the room. Today was different, she knew, and not in a good way.

The people pressed in around her, and Hermione found it hard to breathe. They were talking about her, or was that just her imagination? It wasn't. She already knew it wasn't.

Mid-bite, a shaggy-haired boy popped into the space next to her and placed his arm around her shoulder. Hermione jumped, nearly choking on her sandwich. " _Get off of me_ ," she snarled, inadvertently expressing all of her dread and nervous energy in that one phrase.

He hastily removed his arm, using the motion to brush back his hair. Clearly her tone was enough to intimidate even him. This was a sixteen-year-old Sirius Black, and James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew had appeared around him like a fan of shadows. Room had silently been made for them. They were big shots, apparently. Hermione remembered Harry telling her something about that.

She could have sworn that she heard someone hiss, "Bitch," but she may have been mistaken. Her hearing was excellent, so somehow she doubted it.

Sirius cleared his throat, smiling winningly. "Wotcher," he said. "My name is Sirius Black. Hermione Granger, right?"

Hermione muttered a confirmation, then scolded herself internally. The poor boy was greeting her, and he may be flirting too, but for Merlin's sake, that was absolutely no reason to be rude! She knew full well that Sirius flirted with anyone, probably even his worst enemies.

"Nice to meet you, Black. Who are you all, then?" She was referring, of course, to the rest of the Marauders.

Introductions were made, and Hermione stepped up the politeness, feeling slightly guilty for the horrid first impression she'd probably left them with.

James Potter was a bit cold, if unfailingly gallant. The look in his eyes when Hermione leaned over Sirius to shake his hand was definitely one of contempt. Hermione wanted to glare back. He was _nothing_ like the Harry she'd known.

Remus Lupin was surprisingly beautiful. If he hadn't been bitten, he would have definitely been drop-dead gorgeous. Hermione was surprised, and a bit sad for her old friend. If it had taken this much of a toll on his appearance, she could only imagine how much it affected him emotionally and mentally. His handshake was firm and warm, and he smiled back at her before dissolving into disinterest as soon as she stopped looking at him.

Hermione was prepared to hate Peter Pettigrew immediately. She wanted to look at him and see the vile rat right there at the surface, only looking out for himself. Instead, she saw a sweet-looking, pudgy boy with a nervous face and adoration perpetually shining in his eyes. His grip was sweaty, and Hermione surreptitiously wiped her hand off on her robes once he let go. She mustered a smile for him, which Pettigrew returned. Perhaps she should reserve judgement, in this instance. She wondered what it was that transformed that boy into the traitorous man he would become, and whether she could change things.

The company was welcome, which surprised her. They were obviously wary of her, and likely only associating with her because of the new and interesting rumors surrounding her. They didn't pester her with questions and they cheered her up with their antics, though she knew they weren't meant for her benefit, so she supposed she could tolerate them. Just for one meal.

*|II8II|*

She met Lily Evans in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Of course, they'd known each other's names, but had never exchanged introductions or words.

"Lily Evans, nice to meet you."

"Hermione Granger."

They were paired together, trading simple spells that Hermione had mastered in her third year. Lily hardly seemed challenged, either, and they shared a grin.

Hermione was thrilled. Her magic was back, if only partially. It was about time, too.

"What do you say," Hermione whispered conspiratorially, "we step it up a notch or two?"

Lily agreed heartily, and they spent the rest of the class laughing out loud at the strange, obscure charms and jinxes they threw at each other.

Until one of Hermione's failed, of course, and then she felt like crying, because she'd wasted the magic she had. How could she be so idiotic? Of course her magic wasn't back! She would be lucky if it came back at all, after this.

Still, Hermione had to plaster the grin back on her face. Fortunately, Lily hadn't noticed that Hermione's spell had failed.

"Good game," Lily grinned. Warmth that Hermione hadn't felt in years spread through her. It felt good to have a friend again, even one as high-strung as Lily Evans.

They walked together to Transfiguration, talking about classes and wizarding politics. Lily had some interesting insights into the way things were run, and Hermione theorized that maybe it would be good to have someone like her working in the Ministry, to give perspectives from the Muggle world. In many ways Hermione and Lily agreed that the Muggle world was more organized, though only marginally less sensational. Their conversation, as engaging as it was, came to a close when Professor McGonagall shut the door to the classroom.

Professor McGonagall turned to the rows of desks, and Hermione observed her face. She had the usual stern countenance, although much younger, only about forty or so. Her hair was no longer a steel grey, but a rich ebony color, doubtless well on its way to its eventual hue.

"Good morning, class. We've studied the theory behind nonverbal spells for the past few days. Now we shall begin to put this into practice. The same will occur in your Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. I have set a match on every desk. It is your task to change it into a needle, as you did in your first year. This time, however, the spell must be nonverbal. Are we understood?" The professor looked around the room for any possible confusion before saying, "Proceed."

Staring plaintively at the match, Hermione weighed her options. The nonverbal part wasn't a problem, of course, it was the spell. Her magic still hadn't returned, and she couldn't risk the spell not working in such a public place.

Eventually, she raised her hand, hoping against hope that she could make Minerva- _Professor McGonagall-_ understand.

McGonagall took one look at the wavering hand and said, "The Headmaster has informed all of the teachers of your situation, Miss Granger. If you would read your Transfiguration textbook instead?"

Ignoring the curious stares and the fact that she'd read it so many times she knew the chapters in order and most of it could be recited verbatim, Hermione pulled out her textbook and started on page one.

*|II8II|*

Sometimes Hermione hated Quidditch.

It was the Saturday a week after getting out of the Hospital Wing, and it was raining hard. She shielded her eyes and glared through the heavy drops at the sky. There were flashes of the crimson from the Gryffindor uniforms, reasonably bright against the dark storm clouds, and occasionally Hermione could make out the canary yellow of Hufflepuff, muted as it was.

That was it, though. She could hardly hear the commentary. In short, she'd come out here for nothing.

How could anyone enjoy this?

If it were Harry up there on his broom, she would have stuck around and shown support, no matter how miserable the conditions. As it was, her presence made no difference to anyone. Hermione stood, weaving her way around legs and bags, before finally getting down from the stands. She'd drawn several indignant and curious stares from the people she passed, all of which she ignored.

Hogwarts was very different when it was empty. The noise outside contrasted strongly with the thick, ringing silence inside the stone castle.

Now would be a most excellent time to get some work done.

Robes swishing after her, Hermione ran up several flights of stairs to the seventh floor. She passed in front of the wall three times, focusing on her need to get to the place where lost things are hidden. Harry had told her where the Diadem was after his sixth year, but he had no idea where he'd grabbed it from. Suppressing a groan, Hermione used the time in which she would not be missed as best she could, but the room was too large. Several hours of methodical search yielded no results.

The game would be over, now, Hermione realized, glancing at her watch. It was past dark.

With a sigh, Hermione decided that the room was simply too expansive to search all in one go. She would come back later that night, search until morning if she had to.

For now, though, she needed to make an appearance at dinner. She had no doubt that she was watched.

Dinner was a tedious affair. Hermione found herself wishing for more enlightening conversation than she was surrounded by; even if it wasn't with her, just something interesting to listen to. Nothing changed.

She left early, headed to the Come-and-Go Room, and continued the search for the Diadem. Hermione spotted the Horcrux mere moments after walking into the room resigned to a long night.

"Yes!" the time traveler whooped triumphantly, doing a small victory dance. Why not? No one was there!

Her joy subsided once more. Hermione unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and wrapped the Diadem in it, careful not to touch it with her bare skin. Two Horcruxes down in just a month and a half, not bad. Not bad at all.

*|II8II|*

Sirius jabbed her in the back, square between her shoulder blades. Hermione ignored him, and he did it again, this time in her side. Her body twisted involuntarily in an effort to get away from his finger.

How was Professor Kablan not noticing this? Ah, yes, he was at his desk, completely oblivious to anything going on in his classroom.

It was the third invasion of her personal space that caused her to acknowledge him, a tug on her hair.

" _What do you want?_ " Hermione snarled, not turning around to look at the boy sitting directly behind her.

"Nothing," Sirius whispered back, and Hermione could hear the smirk in his voice. Closing her eyes and reciting the Greek alphabet mentally, Hermione suffered herself to being poked and prodded until class was over.

Gathering her books, Hermione looked up to see James Potter scowling behind an evil-faced Sirius, Remus Lupin next to him looking as if he wanted to leave without them, and Peter Pettigrew, gazing at her with wide and slightly glossy eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked once more, managing to keep her tone mostly civil.

"Come on," Sirius replied. "You're taking forever."

Hermione didn't want to walk with the obnoxious group, but it seemed she had little choice. Glancing behind her as she was dragged out of the room, Hermione caught the grin on the face of her DADA Professor. Not quite so oblivious, then.

They were loud, which she'd known and expected, and they left her alone to feel uncomfortable, which she was grateful for, although she suspected it had more to do with genuine disinterest on the parts of James and Remus than an effort to be courteous.

James didn't seem overly glad of her presence, which made her feel bitter. He was Harry's father, after all, and they looked extremely similar, so it was almost like being ignored by Harry.

Why had she been brought along again?

The Marauders were a single unit, and there was no room for her. Peter hadn't stopped looking at her, otherwise she would have slipped off into a different corridor. What class were they even going to? Unless they all took Arithmancy, there was no reason for her to tag along with them.

She did turn, then, at the next fork. Peter didn't say anything, which was surprising, although he did seem puzzled. He'd been the only one who'd noticed that she had gone.

Arithmancy was her favorite class, even if she'd taken it before. There was nothing truly set in the curriculum, and the topic could easily be led into something much more advanced than she had any right knowing. She wouldn't talk with the professor during class, as it was understood that no one else really enjoyed the subject, instead electing to waste her lunchtime discussing the magic of Arithmancy with her Professor.

Indeed, she once again observed the vacant stares of her classmates during class. Professor Regent had long since been resigned to it, but it aggravated Hermione.

Her own attention was fixed on the board and the instructor, as was her wont. Hermione only realized later that Remus Lupin did, in fact, take the class, and she was slightly embarrassed for practically running away.

*|II8II|*

"Perhaps," Lily announced in Potions, turning around to face the bushy-haired time-traveler, "you and I should go to Hogsmeade together. You've never been there, right? What do you think?" Her happy grin left very little room for refusal, and Hermione didn't have anything better to do, anyway.

"Sounds fine to me," she replied carefully. Alienating Lily was the last thing she wanted to do so early in the game.

The redhead's smile only got wider, and Hermione noticed that her teeth were incredibly white and perfect. She rubbed her mouth absently, remembering buck teeth. Thank Merlin for Draco Malfoy.

Her eyes travelled further to finally land on Severus Snape. Was it just her, or were his eyes fixed on Lily and her dazzling- well, everything? She filed this information away to ponder later. She looked away before the boy could notice her staring.

Lily probably had many more admirers than just James Potter and Severus Snape. She was a truly enchanting girl, and Hermione's self-esteem took a hit every time she looked at her. It didn't matter too much, anyway, because Lily would end up with James and would birth Harry Potter, a wonderful boy who looked like his father.

She had her doubts regarding the redeeming qualities of the father in question, but that was really none of her business. He was sixteen, after all.

"Hermione? Are you all right?" Lily's worried face hovered in front of Hermione's.

Hermione waved away her concern with a nonchalant, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all." Lily looked like she wanted to press the issue but didn't. Her new friend was really quite intense, wasn't she?


	4. Year I- Burning Stone

** _Chapter Four-_ _Year I-_ ** _Burning_ _Stone_

The good thing about Hogwarts, Hermione reflected with a private grin, was that there was actually very little supervision or interference with the students' activities. Many could argue that Albus Dumbledore knew everything that went on in his school, but Hermione felt that this was merely a mixture of brilliance and Legilimency.

Hermione realized she should really work on her Occlumency skills if she wanted to keep her secrets to herself.

There was a loud crashing of metal in the hallway down from her. She ducked behind a nearby tapestry and held her breath. Were there other students out past curfew, or was that a Prefect?

Faint laughter rang through the air. Students, then.

She stepped forward cautiously, wand raised in front of her out of habit. Peering around the corner, she observed several pairs of legs peeking out from underneath an Invisibility Cloak. A suit of armor rested in its newly-dismembered state on the floor beside them. The Marauders chose this night out of all nights to wander around the castle past curfew? They weren't being careful about it at all!

"Ahem," Hermione coughed. They obviously had the Map with them, so they knew she was there.

Sirius lifted the Cloak so the boys could disentangle themselves from each other. "Wotcher, Granger," he greeted. "Mind giving us a hand?"

Hermione grabbed the hand that Sirius held out and pulled, helping him to his feet. They each did the same for the other two boys. Peter was in rat form, which was a good choice, as there was hardly enough room under the Cloak for three of them. She observed Remus sneaking the rat into his pocket. Oh, right, she wasn't supposed to know. It was easy to forget that sometimes.

When everyone was on their feet and the suit of armor was replaced in an upright position, Remus quietly asked the inevitable question. "What are you doing out here? It's after curfew, you know."

"Really? I had no idea," she quipped. "I was just dancing around in the moonlight. You?" Her expression hardened once the sarcasm ceased flowing from her lips.

The three exchanged looks before Sirius said, "Just going to the kitchen. Do you want to see?"

She smiled faintly. Of course she knew where the kitchens were, but it would be highly suspicious if she didn't pretend otherwise. "Sure," Hermione replied with a shrug. "That's much better than my plan for the evening."

James, who had been looking on silently, glanced sharply at his best friend, too polite to express his disdain for the idea and for her. Hermione knew anyway. He was much more transparent than he thought he was. His features being Harry's didn't help, Hermione knew them by heart.

"Or not. You'll have much more fun by yourselves," she offered. Normally she would go just to spite James, but she didn't want him to hate her. He wasn't a run of the mill jackass, he was her best friend's father.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at her. "You're going," he announced firmly.

If James didn't speak up, then it was his fault.

"She's right, we would do better if we just left her alone," James said tactfully. Sirius turned to him to argue, consternation written all over his face.

Hermione used their momentary distraction to slip away. This was becoming a pattern.

And now to her actual plan, she thought. Going to the kitchens would certainly be much more fun, if she ignored the glares she was sure to receive, but going to Hogsmeade was without question more important.

A whispered " _Dissendium_ " later, she ducked behind the one-eyed witch's statue , then closed the hole behind her.

The tunnel didn't seem as long as she remembered. Hermione reached the end with no problem, emerging in the Honeyduke's basement.

Having sneaked out of the shop proper, she made her way down the street to the Hog's Head. It would be open now, of course, and packed with patrons.

She was right. A cry arose as the regulars recognized her in the doorway, and she was pushed up to the front. Aberforth inclined his head to her once she reached the bar. Hermione smiled, reaching out for a rag.

"Why are you here?" Aberforth asked calmly as she wiped out glasses. "And how did you manage to get here in the first place? I know you didn't use the gate."

"Mm," she agreed. "I need to talk to you."

"Speak. They're drunk, and no one's up here."

"I'm going after Voldemort," Hermione declared softly, just loud enough to be heard. Before Aberforth could express exactly how idiotic he thought she was, she went on. "Shh. He's going to become a problem. He might not be much right now, but it will build over the next few years until no one can say his name. The bastard is killing people, and recruiting others to kill people, and he's overall just a giant problem that has to be fixed."

Aberforth shook his head. "I'll humor you. How are you planning to do this, then?"

"He has Horcruxes. A Diadem, a Locket, a Cup, a Diary, and a Ring. I've secured one of them, I know how to destroy them, and I know where the others are." The words fell fast from Hermione's lips. This was all very well known between them when they were allies in the future she was working to prevent.

The older man was silent. All motion ceased, and his hands trembled slightly. "Five Horcruxes?"

"He's planning on making one more. Seven parts of his soul. We need him gone before that happens." Good, he understood.

Resuming his work, Aberforth asked, "Is he recruiting from your school?"

Hermione nodded. "He Marks them as soon as they leave school."

"You're right, then. He must be destroyed."

"Yes."

Then, "What do you need?" Steely determination lined his bright blue eyes.

"I know where they are, right? Well, one is in Gringott's, one is in the Malfoy Manor, one is in Little Hangleton, one is in a cave, and one is with me. It's not safe to get them alone, especially the Locket. I would need your help."

"You said you know how to destroy them?"

She nodded.

"Then I'm in." Aberforth paused, then asked, "So how did you get down here?"

Hermione smiled mischievously. "Hogwarts has secret passageways. I used the statue of the one-eyed witch. You might have cause to come through it," she predicted.

"I look forward to it."

*|II8II|*

Lily tugged gently on Hermione's hair. "Oi," she hissed.

Hermione batted her hand away. She hated it when people touched her hair. "What do you want?" she barked, more harshly than she intended.

"Whoa, chill out. We're game for this weekend, right? Hogsmeade, remember?" Lily's grin was bright and happy.

"Yeah," agreed Hermione. "I remember. Sorry." Normally she wouldn't apologize for being abrasive, but that smile made her feel slightly guilty.

The redhead bumped shoulders with her. "That's all right. Are you excited?"

Hermione hadn't really expected that question, but she should have. As far as Lily was aware, she had never been to Hogsmeade. "Definitely," she replied, pasting a smile on her lips that she felt didn't pull up on the edges as much as they should. She really had to learn how to act the part better around Lily.

Being Lily's partner certainly had its advantages. Slughorn looked up several times to see who was talking, only to realize that it was his favorite student. He would settle down into his chair and watch with an indulgent smile.

She and Lily shared a grin. Of course Lily knew about the special privileges she received in this class.

Lily bottled the potion and Hermione Vanished it in a silent ritual they'd developed over the last weeks. They really did work well together.

They each grabbed their bags and left. Severus Snape was watching them with burning eyes, and Lily was pretending not to notice. This was also a routine, obviously one both were familiar with.

"What's the deal with you two?" Hermione asked casually once they were in the hallway. "Or not, if it's a sensitive issue," she added.

The other girl's expression hardened. "We used to be friends, then he called me a- a Mudblood."

"When was this?" Careful, careful, or she'll get angry.

Lily shook her head, and Hermione thought she wasn't going to answer, but she finally said, "Last year. After DADA OWLs. Potter and his guppies were bullying Sev- Snape," she corrected herself furiously. "I went over to stop them, and I guess I hurt his p-pride and he called me- called me that n-name and now we're not friends-"

Hermione pulled Lily into a hug. The normally-cheerful girl was sobbing piteously right there in the hallway, and Hermione was at fault. "I'm sorry, Lil. I shouldn't have asked."

"No," said Lily, wiping at her eyes. "No, it's fine."

"He was your best friend, wasn't he?" Hermione deduced, connecting the dots.

"Yeah." She sniffed. "It wasn't just that he called me that. He was... well, he was friends with the wrong people. Avery, and Mulciber. You know, those Death Eater wannabees? We'd been growing apart for a while. I'd always forgiven him before, but actually insulting me like he did... it was the last straw, you know?"

"I'm sorry."

Then the sunshine came back into Lily's face, forced as it appeared. "No need to be sorry. We've got Ancient Runes next, right?"

Hermione let it go, although she sensed that Lily hadn't gotten all of the toxicity out of her system. "Uh-huh. We're going to be late."

"Run?"

"Sounds like a plan."

*|II8II|*

The Marauders looked up from their chairs in front of the fireplace. This was the first time Hermione had approached them of her own volition, and they were obviously wondering what the matter was.

"Potter," Hermione said, leaning against the arm of Sirius's chair. He looked up at her curiously. "Do you have a moment?"

James's lip curled slightly. "Sure," he drawled.

Hermione waited as he got up and followed her into the corridor outside the Common Room.

"What do you want?" he asked, not bothering to hide his disdain.

"I'm worried about Lily."

"Evans?" he said, startled. His expression changed entirely once she mentioned Lily's name. "Why would you come to me?"

"It's about Severus Snape. There's something with you, him, and her that bothers me. Would you mind telling me?" She took great care with her expression, tone, and body language to make sure that James wouldn't blow up on her.

James furrowed his brow. "Why is that any of your business?"

"Because she's my friend, because she is still really cut up about it, and because I didn't come here to keep my mouth shut. All right? He was her best friend since before she knew what magic was, and now she has to pretend to hate him, but really she just wants everyone to get along. Even you. I've seen her almost go to stop you when you pick on him. Get it? So let's fix it. Help me, please." Hermione's chest was heaving, her breath coming hard, and her eyes were snapping with determination.

The boy in front of her considered her for a moment, for once not acting like she was someone contemptible. Hermione waited patiently for him to speak. His mouth opened and shut several times before he finally said, "All right. For Evans, right?"

"Right."

"Then yes. What do you need?" He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

Hermione smiled briefly. "Firstly, we work in the background. I don't want Lily to think I'm interfering in her life, even if I am. She'll be happier for it. Secondly, leave Snape alone for a while, eh? Then we'll see. Small changes."

James's nose wrinkled, but he nodded.

"Goodnight, then, Potter." She turned and said the password, holding the portrait open for him to go back through before following him.

She hoped her plan wouldn't implode, but she had years before Harry would be born. There was plenty of time.

*|II8II|*

James kept his word, avoiding Snape altogether. It didn't take long for Lily to notice and comment.

"What's up with Potter?" she asked rhetorically, stacking her books to put back on the shelves. "It's been bothering me. Why would he change his habits after so many years?" Lily suddenly paused, looking straight at Hermione. "You didn't say anything to him, did you?" she accused with narrow eyes.

Hermione wasn't surprised she'd come to that conclusion. Lily was unusually intelligent, after all. "Maybe he realized he was being a total douche-bag," Hermione suggested, hoping she wouldn't have to directly lie.

Lily pressed her hands down on top of the stack, leaning forward. "Maybe. I wonder why, though. Oh, no, he's not trying to woo me this way, is he?"

The bushy-haired woman looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow. "Or it could be Lupin. Perhaps he finally grew a backbone. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Potter would do anything for his friends, right? And if Black got behind Lupin on the issue, it's a given." Hermione winced internally, praying Lily wouldn't ask why she seemed just a bit too familiar with their patterns.

She didn't, thankfully. "Yeah," Lily agreed, a smile back on her face. "Yeah, that makes sense. You're probably right, not everything he does is because of me," Lily chastised herself.

"It's fine, Lil. But you don't have to worry anymore, right?" Hermione declared optimistically.

"Sure," said Lily, but Hermione could see the doubt on her face.

*|II8II|*

Now that James didn't openly despise her, the Marauders kept her around a whole lot more often. Hermione suspected that nothing had really changed. James tolerated her because they were working together, and probably hadn't actually altered his opinion of her. Perhaps he just no longer resented her presence.

Sirius placed his arm around her shoulders, startling her. He chuckled like the fetus-bastard he was. Hermione glared up at the boy with infuriatingly perfect hair. Feeling bold, she reached up and mussed it.

Disregarding Sirius's outraged yelps, Hermione smirked and hoisted her bag up on her shoulder. "Don't do that," she explained simply. Contact in general was a giant no-no. Not that she was overly jumpy or sensitive, but she'd never enjoyed it, especially not from near-strangers. Her best friends had hugged her very rarely, respecting her intense need for personal space.

Remus glanced up from his conversation with Peter, shared a brief grin with her, and then went back to ignoring her existence.

The werewolf was odd, all right. He obviously noticed the things that went on around them, but rarely chose to engage. There were subtle reminders that he wasn't actually ignoring her, no matter how he appeared, like an absent-minded pat on Sirius's back when she humiliated him, or that grin. Perhaps he wasn't quite as disinterested as he seemed.

"Some people are trying to pass, you know," drawled a familiar voice. They had indeed stopped moving entirely, plugging up the hallway. Hermione moved aside wordlessly, but she was the only one. She looked up curiously and found that the voice belonged to none other than Severus Snape.

Praying fervently that James wouldn't choose now to be a complete douche, Hermione poked him lightly in the back.

James seemed to remember himself. "Sure," he said. "We'll go."

The rest of the Marauders looked on in shock as he began walking in the direction of their next class, Hermione falling in step beside him. They didn't see her grin, or the mouthed "Good job!"

*|II8II|*

"Come on, Hermione! Why are you being so slow?" Lily called, drawing out the vowel in "slow".

Hermione grumbled her way up the path to her friend. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend, and it seemed like everyone but Hermione was absolutely thrilled.

"Where do you want to go first?" asked Lily. "Zonko's is fun when Potter and his twits aren't there. I don't think we should go there first, or we'll meet them. Honeyduke's is great, too, but we'll be tempted to buy things. The Shrieking Shack is only really fun the first time you see it, because they don't let you in and nothing really happens. A lot of people end up making out down there, so I wouldn't suggest that. Maybe the Three Broomsticks is our best bet."

Hermione looked around before her eyes fell on the building she'd seen when she first arrived, Harry's. "What about that one?" she asked, pointing to it.

Lily paused. "Oh, that's the one they've been building all summer! You're right, let's go there first!" Lily set off towards it, and Hermione followed hurriedly, wrapping her robes tighter around herself.

"What kind of place do you think this is?" asked Lily, her hand hesitating on the door.

"I believe we can rule out brothel," Hermione suggested. "Let's go in and find out." She was no fan of stupid questions.

Lily pushed open the door, and a bell trilled inside the place. The pair were faced with shelves upon shelves of books. "A library?" she mused aloud.

Hermione shook her head. "No, a bookstore." She strode up to one of the nearest shelves, running a finger along the pristine spines. "Selling Muggle books. We're in the fiction section."

"Oh, Hermione, look!" cried Lily exultantly. "Science books! I've been dying to get my hands on some of these!"

After several further minutes of exploration, Lily found yet another door. There were no signs that the room beyond was off-limits, but neither was it propped open to allow patrons to go through.

"Probably just a loo," said Lily, pushing the door open.

It was not a bathroom, however. This was another room with even more books, these ones magical. Rare ones, too. Hermione and Lily were both thrilled to find that most of the books weren't in the Hogwarts library. Hermione smiled as she found an entire section dedicated to time travel.

And then Hermione found another door. She opened it without hesitation, Lily following with a puzzled look on her face.

These books were Dark. Darker than anything Hermione had ever read. She didn't even need to read the titles to know it, there was just an energy radiating from them that was equally seductive as terrifying. "Don't. Touch. Anything," Hermione ordered, moving forward cautiously.

"What? Why?" asked Lily.

"Dark books often have curses put on them, curses that- well, you get the idea." Hermione shivered. "Let's just see if there's another door, but don't look at any of the books."

Hermione skirted around a shelf. This room seemed so long...

Suddenly, a door appeared in front of her. Hermione reached up to turn the knob-

"How may I help you?" A voice appeared behind them. Hermione started violently.

She turned around to see a man in a Muggle suit. His hair was thick and black, swept back so that it was out of his face. His eyes were piercing and blue, so pale that Hermione could hardly make out the iris.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted. "We're still exploring, not really looking for anything in particular."

"I see," said the man. "Are you two finding everything to your satisfaction?"

Hermione glanced at the other girl. Lily was standing silently with a slack expression and a glassy look in her eyes. "Did you do that to her?" asked Hermione, ignoring the man's question.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"Light witch?"

"Yes. She was never supposed to be here. No Light wizards make it past the second room."

"I see," Hermione said. "But since I found the door..."

"She was able to follow you, yes. You are not Light, but not Dark either."

The time-traveler considered. "I am Grey, I guess."

"Grey," mused the man. "Grey wizards are more rare than one would think. They don't usually stay that way for long."

"That's news to me, but I suppose it makes sense. It's hard to stay balanced on a line, isn't it? What is your name, anyway?"

The man twitched slightly, though not as though it were a muscle. It was more like his whole image flickered, or moved away from its original spot and then went back in the space of a nanosecond. "I am Keane, Grey witch. Dyson Keane."

She smiled. Rather than appearing friendly, unbeknownst to Hermione, it was predatory and curious. "I'm Hermione Granger, and that's Lily Evans." Neither made a move to shake hands.

Keane turned to gesture behind him. "This is my business, Hermione Granger," he declared.

"Congratulations," said Hermione dryly. "Why isn't it named after you?"

"Just-" Keane paused, "-a reminder of my past."

Hermione nodded. "None of my business then. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine." Keane nodded, tone stiff once more. Hermione hadn't realized that it had become much more casual.

She felt a brief sense of loss as she started back on square one. "I'm assuming that if you can find a door, you can go through it? Like this one?" She touched a finger to the door.

"Yes, that's about right. Most people don't make it to this room, much less the one beyond."

"How many rooms are there?" Hermione asked.

"More than you can get to, although you can get to the first few."

Hermione frowned. "Like what?"

Keane waved his hand vaguely. "There's a room for pretty much everything. As a Grey witch, you can access more than either a Light or Dark wizard can, but you are still only human. House elves, for example, have their own room, and most books have literacy spells woven into them, so even if one is never taught their letters, they can still understand the words. This spell also translates the written language to whatever language the reader is most familiar with."

"Sounds brilliant," breathed Hermione. "What would this next room be, then?"

"The shop knows, not me. Why don't you find out?" Keane's expression was nonchalant, but his eyes sparked with excitement.

"I thought you implied...?"

The shopkeeper shook his head. "No, Granger. It isn't linear by any means; after all, what if a room should be accessible to you but you are not accepted by the one before? You go around, of course. See?"

She nodded, confusion gone. Hermione opened the door with very little flourish, not sure what she'd find within.

The room was plain and nearly empty, except for the stool in the center of the floor. There was something resting on the seat, and Hermione moved closer to see what it was. The object glittered sharply, refracting light onto the walls. Hermione felt her heart beating faster. A smooth purple stone sat innocently on the seat.

"Er..." said Hermione incoherently. "What is it?"

Keane's expression was entirely too confused for it to be genuine. "I don't know. I suppose you'll just have to find out." His wicked grin made Hermione scowl.

She picked up the stone anyway, and it was unnaturally warm. She smiled down at the colorful object, noticing that it had streaks of blues and greens and reds as well. There were next to no lumps in the exterior, and it was almost perfectly round. It was truly beautiful.

"Perhaps you should acquaint yourself with it," Keane suggested, in a way that made it perfectly plain that it was not a suggestion. "After all, there must be a reason the shop gave it to you." The condescending smile that went along with his words made Hermione want to hit him.

"Fine," she said neutrally, reigning in her immature desires. She swept out of the room and pulled Lily out of the Dark room.

"Are we leaving?" asked Lily bemusedly as Hermione dragged her out of the shop and onto the comfortingly normal streets of Hogsmeade.


	5. Year I- Echo, Love

**_Chapter Five- Year I- _ ** _Echo, Love_ _  
_

On Monday, October twenty-seventh, a small family made up of Muggleborns was found dead. Hermione felt an exhausted sigh bubble up in her chest. Two Muggleborn parents and their eight-year old daughter were killed in their living room with the Dark Mark floating over their house. Eight years old, and still filth.

Hermione wasn't the only one affected, either. Lily was fairly subdued that day, and most of the other Muggleborns as well. With the rest of the students it really depended on the individual.

"It's begun, hasn't it?" said Lily at breakfast that morning. "They haven't caught him over the summer. He's still here. He's not going to go away, is he?"

The time-traveler looked down at her plate and said nothing, gritting her teeth against the words she wanted to say.

None of the teachers commented on their somber students, which Hermione was grateful for. "Business as usual" would probably be the best thing to do.

"Miss Granger," called Professor McGonagall. "Would you please demonstrate the wand motions and incantation necessary to change a tortoise into a hat, without using your wand?"

Hermione complied absentmindedly, earning herself ten points for Gryffindor. Lily reached under the desk and squeezed her hand. The bushy-haired girl squeezed back.

Lunch came and went, and Hermione was happy to find the volume level back to normal. Things like this would happen all the time, and it wouldn't do to get hung up on each. At the same time, Hermione felt herself wincing internally at their willingness to move on so quickly.

Hermione found Lily in the library later that day. "You're planning something," she observed.

The redhead nodded without hesitation. "I've been thinking. Perhaps Potter can have a chance. If the war's on... we don't have 'all the time in the world', do we? And it would just be a date, not getting engaged. No commitment, right?"

Hermione nodded, doing her best not to seem too enthusiastic. It was about damn time! "When?"

Lily's only response was a thoughtful shrug. Hermione joined her and they both began studying, although fundamentally different subject matter.

*|II8II|*

Lily was a very bold girl.

Hermione smiled at the tiny blush on Lily's face as Lily daintily speared her pasta with her fork. The brunette wondered vaguely how Lily could be so graceful about it, seeing as she was hardly looking at where it was going. She was far too busy trying to be sneaky about staring at James Potter.

Was today the day?

Dinner ended soon after, and no one was in a huge rush to get back to their common rooms. Lily strode up to the Marauders and tapped on James's shoulder. "Excuse me, may I have a word?"

Anyone with eyes could see the shock and excitement that were at war on the boy's face. He nodded eagerly and glanced at the others. Sirius was grinning.

Would you like to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend? Hermione didn't have to be within earshot to understand the phrase that Lily had rehearsed over and over.

James said yes immediately, as Hermione had expected. She felt almost as if she should applaud.

It seemed that she'd drifted over to the other three Marauders, but she didn't notice until Remus said, "Well, I wasn't expecting things to go quite that way."  
Sirius laughed at Hermione's startled jump. She normally would have glared, but she didn't really feel like it. Everyone was in an exceptional mood.

Lily practically dragged Hermione away, boldness evidently drained for the moment.

"Merlin, that was- that was scary, and exciting, and- wow! I'm going on a date with James Potter! Can you believe it?" Lily was beyond happiness, and into the giddiness that only such a situation could warrant.

"You and I both knew he would say yes, Lil." Hermione couldn't fight down her grin, either.

"Yeah," said Lily. "Still, it's not normal for the girl to ask the boy out."  
Hermione felt a twinge of irritation. She'd forgotten the mindset of the seventies when it came to gender roles. "All the better! It's a welcome change."

*|II8II|*

The date evidently went well, judging by Lily's rosier-than-normal face. Her eyes were positively shining, and she couldn't seem to stop giggling.

"What did you think?" Hermione asked, patting the space next to her on the bed.

Lily's grin grew. "It was wonderful! James was a perfect gentleman, but not so much that he was overbearing. He didn't take me straight to Zonko's like I expected, he asked me where I wanted to go and actually seemed happy to follow me around a bookstore for two hours! Can you believe it? I mean, I know I asked him and everything, but I kind of expected it to be a flop."

Hermione smiled back, rubbing Lily's hair until it was messy and static-y. Instead of yelping and rushing to fix it like Hermione anticipated, Lily just laughed and mussed her hair right back. Hermione scowled. She deserved that.

"I think it's about time for dinner, Hermione," declared Lily after glancing at her watch.

Dinner itself went without a hitch. Lily couldn't stop touching or looking at James, and James just seemed completely thrilled at Lily's hard-won attentions. Hermione doubted that very much food actually got to their mouths, as their plates were both nearly full when dinner ended.

Sirius was still confused about James and Hermione getting along, and now Lily had finally agreed to date James. Hermione could read all of his emotions on his face: bemusement, smugness, and concern. She smirked and patted his shoulder sympathetically. He swatted at her hand vaguely, scowling at her.

Dinner was over soon after, and the group picked up their bags and made to leave. They were halfway out the doors when Hermione spotted Severus Snape approaching.

Oh, no, she thought, horrified. This would not turn out well at all.

"What do you want, Snape?" Lily asked coldly as the boy stopped in front of them.

"How could you, Lily? After six years of abhorring Potter, you date him? What about all he's done to you? To me?" Severus Snape was well and truly furious. Hermione knew that he loved the woman he was yelling at, and so did Lily, so Lily shouted back. No one seemed to care that they were in no way somewhere private. The six of them were drawing a crowd.

"We aren't friends! You have absolutely no right to say anything about us, not after what you called me! If I date James, it's my own damn business! Keep your nose out of it!" Lily was worse. Her eyes snapped with rage, and Hermione wanted to interrupt and move the conversation to a classroom, or anywhere that wasn't in the middle of a crowd. Not enough to actually do it, apparently, because she remained shifting her weight awkwardly.

"Snivellus, I suggest you find your snake pit and slither back in."

Lily shushed her boyfriend, but Sirius found his way into the screaming match.

It was almost too loud to hear what they were shouting.

Hermione, Remus, and Peter exchanged glances. This whole thing- it wasn't their battle to fight. Yet, they couldn't leave, because the three angry teens would turn on them later if they did.

This went on. Lily ended up in tears, James was obviously a hair away from punching the boy, and Sirius's face was purple.

Severus walked away quickly, and Hermione could have sworn he was also about to cry.

She felt sorry for him, but not enough to abandon Lily.

"Come on, then," said Remus after a moment.

Lily sniffed, wiping at her cheeks and attempting a smile. "Yeah," she agreed. "There's homework to do before tomorrow."

Hermione and Peter followed the rushing quartet at a more sedate pace. Hermione glared over her shoulder at the crowd. "Get a move on, would you?" she growled, and the hallway cleared.

Entering the common room some minutes later, Hermione saw the Marauders, but no Lily. Sirius noticed her roving eyes and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the girls' dorm. She smiled politely to thank him and raced up the stairs.

Lily was sitting on Hermione's bed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She greeted her friend with a watery smile and a shrug. "I knew that would happen," she said.

Hermione wrapped her arms around the crying girl. "It still should have happened differently. It'll be fine, Lily." When that didn't cheer her up, Hermione decided to try a different tactic. "So you and James are dating now, huh?" She grinned slyly down at Lily.

The redhead was startled into laughter. "Oh," she said, calming down. "Yeah. We decided at dinner."

Hermione pulled her into another hug. She was relieved that her work hadn't been for nothing.

Later that night, after homework was finished and the lights were out, Hermione could hear Lily's muffled sobs. She pretended to be asleep when Lily got up early the next morning to clean up before anyone saw her face. Lily hadn't slept any more than Hermione had, and she was pretending not to hurt. Hermione knew better, and she frowned into her pillow. When Lily came to wake Hermione up, Hermione smiled at her friend. "Are you okay?" she asked as if she didn't know the answer.

"Not really," Lily answered honestly. "But I'll get over myself." She busied herself at the vanity, puttering over lotions and cosmetics before applying nothing, as usual.

"What are your plans for the holidays?" Hermione changed the subject, stretching languidly once on her feet.

Lily's lips turned up. "Going home," she said. "It'll be good to see my Mum and Dad, and even Tuney. Maybe she'll be happier now that she's going out with that Dursley boy."

Hermione agreed, thinking on her own arrangements. She would be staying in Aberforth's pub again. A contented smile spread over her face at the thought. When Lily asked her, however, Hermione lied and said that she would be staying with her parents. No one here knew how alone she was, fortunately. Except for Dumbledore, of course.

"Do you like them?" Lily asked curiously.

Hermione started, not expecting her friend to ask for details. "They're wonderful, especially since I'm never around. They don't have enough time with me to become frustrated, which does wonders for our relationship."

Lily giggled. "It's the same with mine, actually. Distance hasn't exactly made my sister fonder of me, though."

"Oh." Hermione remembered very well the personality of Petunia Dursley. She wasn't sure that the woman could feel any fondness for anyone who wasn't completely, totally mundane. Like herself.

Potions that day was full of tension. Lily was determinedly not looking even in the direction of Severus Snape. The boy himself was focused on his cauldron with a carefully blank expression.

Hermione frowned. This wouldn't do at all.

Perhaps the only upside to the situation was that Lily and James had gotten closer faster. Lily hesitantly pulled him aside on the way back from dinner and gave him a kiss.

Hermione thought it was sweet. Normally she would feel at least the tiniest bit of disapproval, but James was Harry's father. She couldn't possibly want them to not get together.

She couldn't help but be slightly annoyed at finding Lily and James snogging in the corner of the common room whenever she came back from the library, for all her bias. Thank Merlin Madame Pince didn't allow displays of affection in the library.

*|II8II|*

The search for the properties of the stone wasn't going well. No matter how many books Hermione stayed up until dawn reading she couldn't find even a mention of the thing. Even just the name of it would be helpful.

The stone was safely wrapped in exactly nine pairs of now-unusable socks. For a reason unknown even to herself, Hermione was terrified of her roommates seeing the stone. What if they discovered its powers and she wasn't there? What if they asked where she'd gotten it?

In any case, Hermione figured the best place for it was inside her locked and warded trunk.

Hermione was locked inside the bathroom well after the rest of the Gryffindors left on the Hogwarts Express, examining the stone as best she could under the bright light. There was nothing new. She didn't know what she'd expected.

She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, cradling the stone in her lap. One hand ran over the surface, when she found an irregularity that hadn't been there before.

"Hmm?" she said aloud, holding it up to the light. She hadn't imagined it! There was a crack, spanning over half the thing. Before Hermione's thrilled eyes, several more appeared. There was a clicking sound from inside.

How foolish of her, to just assume that it was a stone! It was so obvious now that it was an egg, and she couldn't wait to see what hatched from it.

Then it occurred to her that not everything was harmless. Basilisks, for example, turned their mothers to stone immediately upon hatching.

As much as Hermione didn't want to, she backed away from the egg and placed protective wards around herself, feeling what little magic she'd regained drain away. She found a handheld mirror and angled it just so. If she did accidentally catch sight of the thing's eyes, she wouldn't die.

The first thing she saw was the head, pretty and damp. It was the color of fire, but Hermione could see shades of purple in there, too. The creature's beak was deadly-looking, but it was obviously not a basilisk. Hermione dropped the mirror.

"Hey," she crooned, realizing it was a bird of some sort. There was something incredibly familiar about it, she thought as the beautiful baby shook itself free from its shell.

Hadn't Fawkes looked much like this when he was reborn?

Oh.

Hermione canceled the wards and the baby phoenix waddled towards her. Its feet were purple and silver, just like Fawkes's had been. It rubbed its head against the bare skin of Hermione's leg. She smiled fondly down at the creature.

"Do you have a name?" she asked, and the phoenix jumped slightly. "No, I suppose not. I don't know much about new phoenixes, though, as Fawkes was very much grown up by the time I knew him. What do you eat, anyway? I'll bet you're very hungry, my love. We'll see what we can do, won't we? To the library!"

She scooped up the phoenix and placed it on her shoulder. It grasped her hair tightly in it's talons, and Hermione felt a moment of worry. Her shoulder probably wasn't a very secure perch. Sweeping out into the dorm room, Hermione grabbed several pieces of cloth and wrapped them into a makeshift pouch, lamenting her lack of magic.

"Is this okay?" she asked the phoenix, showing it the pouch. There was a small chirp in response, which Hermione took as a yes.

Once the phoenix was situated and hidden in the folds of her robes, Hermione made her way down to the library, intent on searching for information on phoenixes. However, it quickly occurred to her that it would be much more efficient to go to Harry's and look there. After all, as smug and obnoxious as Keane was, he had obviously known what the "stone" was. He would be able to point her towards the most helpful books.

"We're going to go see Keane, okay?" she told the phoenix. Hermione really needed to find a name for it. And find out its gender.

The pair successfully maneuvered through the streets of Hogsmeade without the phoenix being spotted. Keane greeted Hermione immediately upon their entrance, and Hermione beamed at him.

"A phoenix egg," she breathed, and showed him the pouch and its occupant.

"May I see?" asked Keane, and Hermione looked to the phoenix for permission. It didn't seem to have any problems with the man handling it. After several moments of scrutiny, Keane announced, "A female. She's a female."

Hermione took back her phoenix and settled her back in the pouch.

Keane took her into the second room, and Hermione was surprised to find that the books had changed. Instead of the rather broad topic of "Light magic", now the room was filled wall to wall with books on phoenixes.

"Thank you," said Hermione. Her phoenix trilled.

Hours of research later, Hermione felt that she knew everything she could possibly want to about phoenixes, the most important of which were eating habits. Phoenixes evidently did not kill even to eat, and lived on dew. Judging from her own phoenix's lack of grumpiness, they didn't get hungry very often.

"Well," she told her phoenix, "I guess all I need to do is take you outside in the morning. You think?"

That night, settled once more in Aberforth's pub, a name occurred to Hermione. "Echo," she called quietly, and the phoenix's head popped up. "So mote it be."

*|II8II|*

The first morning of Christmas break came with a small struggle between Hermione and her new companion. Echo had spent the night curled up on the pillow by Hermione's head, and was reluctant to be left behind when Hermione went downstairs to get back to work at the bar.

"I can't let the others see you," Hermione explained. "You haven't grown enough yet to defend yourself, and I don't want you to be stolen."

Echo gave an indignant squawk as Hermione tried once more to open the door.

Hermione sighed. "Please?"

The phoenix snorted.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione scooped up the creature and placed her in the hood of Hermione's jacket, hiding Echo in her voluminous hair. "Just try to be quiet, all right? I haven't told Aberforth about you yet, and I don't want to have to do that in the middle of washing dishes. Capische?"

Echo crooned and settled into the hood, evidently satisfied with those conditions.

The time-traveler smiled fondly over her shoulder at her before going downstairs to earn her keep.

"'Morning," said Aberforth. Hermione mumbled something similar and set about washing the dishes that Abe couldn't be chuffed to do. It would be a while before customers came in, so she could do as she pleased until then. Once her morning chores were finished, of course.

Hermione could not, however, leave the Hog's Head. With Echo so unwilling to be left behind, Hermione couldn't risk some ruffian deciding he wanted the pretty bird. Echo was a hatchling, and Hermione couldn't defend either of them, as her magic was so woefully nonexistent.

The pair contented themselves with staying in their room and reading, Hermione wondering if she could possibly teach Echo to decipher the letters and form them into words. Phoenixes were intelligent creatures, there was no doubting that, but were they coachable?

It was a worthy use of her afternoon, in either case. "Echo?" Hermione called softly, watching as her phoenix stretched her neck towards the witch. "Do you see these? These are called books, and they hold knowledge. These little squiggles are called letters, and they make up words. Do you want to learn?"

She didn't know what she was expecting. After all, human babies weren't taught to read until they were several years old. Echo had been born the day before. Even if phoenixes were intelligent, one simply could not expect any day-old creature to do much in the way of learning anything.

Still, Hermione was disappointed when Echo simply rubbed her head against her arm, showing no signs of even comprehending her words.

Hermione fell back down the well of thought, open tome forgotten.

Had she ever loved anything so quickly and unconditionally as she loved Echo? She hardly thought so. Crookshanks had been an immediate infatuation, but certainly not love. That had grown with time. Harry and Ron were definitely a very long process. If she had a younger sibling or a child, Hermione supposed that the feeling would be quite similar.

Checking the Muggle analog clock she'd had set up on the wall, Hermione realized that it was time to head back to work. She replaced Echo in her hood without any prompting, and the phoenix gave a low, satisfied trill. It seemed Hermione was trainable after all.

"Stay quiet back there, all right?" Hermione reminded Echo.

Hermione was greeted with the grins of some of her early regulars. She'd forgotten how much she liked it here.

The night went well, perhaps louder than she remembered, but overall pretty great. They made a good profit, with Hermione even being tipped. She was in a better mood than she'd been in since going to Hogwarts.

That is, until Sirius Black stepped in.

He made a beeline for the counter as soon as he spotted Hermione. "What are you doing here?" he asked stupidly, eyes skating down her figure as if to make sure it was really her.

"Just washing glasses for kicks," Hermione shot back. "What did you think? I work here." And live here, but that's beside the point.

Aberforth appeared to her left. "What can I get you?" he asked curtly. Hermione flashed him a smile.

Sirius considered for a moment before replying, "Just a butterbeer, thanks."

Hermione turned abruptly and took a bottle from the shelf, popping out the cork and pouring some into a glass. She set the beverage in front of her irritating classmate without a word.

"Hey, thanks," he said, as if it were a favor she'd done him.

"Mm," replied she. Hermione realized that she was probably being a git, but it felt good. She didn't even know why she was so aggravated with him, or why her mood had completely flipped as soon as Sirius had walked in.

Echo's feet scrabbled slightly at the back of her neck, and Hermione jumped. They were both getting agitated, and the last thing she wanted to do was expose Echo so soon.

"What's wrong?" asked Sirius, noticing her brief expression of panic.

"Nothing," said Hermione with a bright smile. "Just forgot something."

Sirius continued to stare at her suspiciously until Hermione resumed wiping the glasses. Then, taking a few large swallows of his butterbeer, he said, "What's that in your hood?"

Hermione froze, looking at him sharply. "Nothing. What would possibly be in my hood?" She winced internally as soon as the words left her lips. Engaging Sirius's curiosity was exactly the wrong thing to do.

He, predictably, reached over the counter and tried to catch the back of her jacket. Hermione leaped backwards, knowing at the same time that there was very little that could get her out of this situation without causing a scene.

"No, let me see," Sirius said, eyebrow furrowed. "There's something in there."

"You know what? Why don't I just go check in the the loo?" she said, already moving away from him.

Once safely locked inside the loo, Hermione set Echo on the edge of the sink. "That's why I didn't want to take you," she groused, crossing her arms at the phoenix. "I guess there was no way of knowing that Sirius would show up, though. And it's entirely my fault, anyway, so don't listen to me." Hermione bit her lip. "How are we supposed to sneak back up to our room?"

Echo responded with an unhelpful chirp.

Hermione sighed, squatting on her heels and leaning against the wall, prepared to think. "He's wondering why I'm taking so long," she predicted. "Should I just hide you somewhere else? I don't see a way I could sneak past everyone and go to our room, and I don't want Sirius to know I live here. He would... I don't know, do something very Sirius-y. I'd like to avoid that if at all possible."

The hatchling phoenix tilted its head, looking her in the eye.

"That's the best solution, then," Hermione decided. She spent several moments searching her clothing for possible hiding places before finding pockets on the inside of her jacket. "Is this all right? It'll be hot in there."

Echo didn't seem to care one way or the other, so Hermione transferred her to the pocket immediately, not wanting to spend too long away from the bar.

"What did you find?" asked Sirius as soon as she was back behind the counter.

"Nothing, like I said," Hermione said nonchalantly, passing a bottle of firewhiskey to another patron. The woman returned her friendly smile with a strained look in her eyes before popping the top off and chugging straight from the bottle. The woman swayed slightly, and Hermione slid to her side and guided her to a stool. "You all right?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

The woman put her head down on her arms, firewhiskey forgotten. Hermione smoothly pushed the bottle further back from the edge so that it would be less likely to fall to the ground and shatter.

Hermione stood there for a moment, rubbing the woman's back in soothing circles. She'd worked at the Hog's Head long enough to know when someone had had a horrid day.

Sirius clinked his glass slightly against the tabletop, reminding Hermione of his presence. "Wait," she mouthed. Then, to the woman she said, "Hey, do you want to talk about it?" She noticed out of the corner of her eye Sirius finishing his drink and then leaving, tossing a few galleons onto the counter.

She loved working here, she thought, listening to the woman's life story. If only her classmates would just go somewhere else.


	6. Year I- Spiraling Indignation

**_Chapter Six- Year I- _ ** _Spiraling Indignation  
_

Christmas Day was an ordinary affair. Hermione's presents filtered in by owl mail one by one, and Hermione would open them with very little actual excitement. She received books from everyone, of course. That wasn't any different from what she'd been used to in her old life, so she wasn't disappointed.

The thing about Christmas, however, was there were quite a few people who decided to make a night of it at whichever bar was most handy. By the end of an exhausting shift, Hermione welcomed the solitude and relative quiet of her bedroom.

Echo still refused to be left behind, but she was remarkably good at staying quiet while they were in public. Hermione didn't feel safe enough yet to leave the Hog's Head, however.

The phoenix was maturing at a remarkable rate. Her feathers were growing in, and she wasn't quite so small. Whereas when she hatched she had been about the size of a baby bluebird, in a short time she had become the size of a Quaffle. Soon Echo wouldn't be so easily hidden.

Hermione still talked to Echo as if she could respond. Phoenixes were intelligent enough to learn human speech, after all, so why not?

She was halfway through her book when there was a knock at her door. Opening the door just enough to see who it was, Aberforth's blue eyes peered back at her. "Someone here to see you," he said succinctly, as was his wont.

The time-traveler shut the door again and turned to Echo. "Who do you think it could be? It's Christmas. Who would come visit me on Christmas?" Echo gave a small breathy sound, which Hermione took to mean, "I have no idea".

Several moments later, Echo safely tucked away in her pocket, Hermione found herself on the main floor of the pub, staring incredulously at one Sirius Black.

"You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you showed up at my workplace because you were bored? Why not go to Potter's place? Why are you here this late, anyway? The pub is closed, mate."

Sirius was puffed up like a bloody peacock. "You live here," he said triumphantly. "Lily said that you were staying with some relatives, but you're living here."

Hermione took a deep breath through her nose. "So?"

"Are you living here because you don't have anyone? Anyone at all?" Sirius's grin had faded to almost nothing. He wasn't even trying to look sad but Hermione wanted to give him a hug. It aggravated her.

"I live here now. I have Aberforth, and it's close to the school. I have everything I need. I get paid a decent amount, and room and board is paid for. Why would I be upset by that?" She said, skirting around the actual question neatly.

Sirius took the bait. He frowned at her. "I'm sure James and his family would let you stay with them," he said.

He was clearly delusional. James, willingly allowing her into his house? Dealing with her every day? Pointing out Sirius's best mate's aversion to her company seemed besides the point, so instead she just said, "Did you not hear me? I've got everything I need here. Why don't you go back to wherever you sleep and leave me be?" Hermione crossed her arms, chest heaving. This boy was really starting to be irritating. Echo stirred against her stomach, and Hermione realized that she needed to calm down before her phoenix got riled enough to betray her presence.

Sirius followed her advice after a few moments of apprehensive staring.

She found herself thinking about his actions. Why would Sirius go out in the middle of the night- on Christmas, no less- to visit her at the Hog's Head just to prove that she had no family? It made no sense. And why did he care that much, anyway?

His motivations were entirely a mystery to her. Hermione was about as fascinated as she was annoyed.

*|II8II|*

The first day back at Hogwarts was full of hugging and other grand displays of affection, which Hermione did her best to stay away from. Sirius had evidently told tales of her frosty behavior on Christmas because all of the Marauders were walking on eggshells with her. Did she really blame them? She'd been distant ever since Echo had hatched.

Lily was the only one who acted normally around her. Hermione was beginning to suspect that it wasn't just her reported attitude that had set the Marauders off, because the way they were acting was far too dramatic for just that. She imagined that they were much younger, snickering behind their hands at some joke she couldn't hear. It wasn't as blatant as all that, but it was the teenage boy version, as far as she could tell.

Their reasons were their own, and Hermione's curiosity didn't really extend so far as to cause her to actively find out why they were acting the way they were. She was fairly satisfied with such a simple explanation as "boys are weird and do weird things for weird reasons".

That was before a giant water balloon smashed over her head on the third day back.

She wiped the water out of her eyes, casting a significant glance at Lily, who waved her wand and dried Hermione off. Hermione had had no choice but to tell Lily that she could no longer cast spells, saying that she'd been cursed and was researching how to reverse it. Lily had handled it with the grace of someone whose problem it wasn't and was only too happy to help her with such small things.

The time-traveler had survived Draco Malfoy and the Weasley twins, and Merlin knew she would survive the Marauders.

Only this thought allowed her to keep a tranquil expression as she went back to her food. She didn't dare even glance at the Marauders, for fear of seeing them laughing at her. Hermione knew that she wouldn't be able to stay calm if they were.

Lily was glaring down the table, and Hermione allowed herself to be satisfied by that.

James probably looked appropriately shame-faced, since Lily getting mad at him wasn't his intention. Sirius was probably laughing so hard his face was red by now, Remus was probably looking around at his friends with an amused smile, and Peter was probably staring at someone with awe. There; no need to look at them after all.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Lily whispered fervently, still glaring daggers at her boyfriend and his friends.

Hermione shrugged. "No harm done," she responded through imperceptibly clenched teeth. She hoped she looked nonchalant. The last thing Hermione wanted was to give them the satisfaction of seeing that she could be rattled this easily.

She left the Great Hall early, Lily trailing after her with a concerned look on her face. "Are you okay?" Lily asked. "You've been a bit off since we got back. Was your family all right?"

Guilt crashed over Hermione. Of course Lily was still in the dark. Would it be too risky to reveal her true situation now, before Sirius or James did? Would Lily be angry with her for lying?

"Look, Lily. I sort of want to talk to you about something. Do you have anywhere to be?"

"Nope," said Lily, the anxious look even more pronounced. "What's wrong?"

Hermione tugged absently on one of her curls. "The thing is, I don't really have a family. I stay at the Hog's Head during holidays."

Lily's face crumpled. After a few long seconds, she whispered, "Really? You lied about having somewhere to stay?"

"Yeah... I did..." Hermione crossed one arm over her body as they walked, clutching desperately at the strap of her bag.

"You don't need to do that, Hermione. You're welcome to stay with me, if you can put up with my sister," Lily offered, brow furrowed and a deep frown etched into her face.

"No, that's very kind of you, but I'm actually really happy at the pub. The patrons like me and Aberforth pays me. I have a room all to myself where people rarely disturb me. It's really great, truly." Why did Hermione feel the need to justify her living arrangements?

Lily brushed her hair behind her ear, an action that mirrored Harry's habit of smoothing his hair down. "A pub, Hermione? How did you ever decide that was a good idea?"

"Look here," said Hermione, beginning to get irritated. "It's where I live. It's where I work. It's not like I strip my clothes off for money, Lily, I just clean and pour out alcohol for customers. Where do you get off telling me how to live? What would you do if you didn't have a house? Starve on the street? As far as living arrangements go, I can't really think of any place better. Now get off your high horse and quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. This is exactly why I lied, you know."

"I'm just worried!" Lily said, voice raising in volume. "It doesn't sound very safe, and you're sixteen, Hermione! Don't tell me that you can defend yourself against someone who's physically stronger than you and has finished school."

She had a point, Hermione acknowledged internally. Lily had no way of knowing that she was actually in her twenties and used to fight Death Eaters and win. Besides, Hermione didn't see herself winning any fights, at least not until her magic recovered. Hermione breathed in deeply, doing her best to calm down. "I understand why you're concerned," she began softly, regretting her earlier harsh words. "But the circumstances will not change. It's exceedingly unlikely that I'll be targeted, and I rarely leave the Hog's Head anyway. What magical prowess I lack, Aberforth makes up for in spades; that's not even mentioning our customers."

Lily frowned, probably still a bit nettled. "Still, Hermione... I'd prefer you stay with me, or one of your other friends..."

"Do you see any 'other friends', Lil? And even if I had anyone else, I'd still stay in the pub. Just think of it as an inn if it makes you feel better."

The pair lapsed into silence, and Lily nodded before walking away quickly, eyes unnaturally shiny. Hermione sighed. Lily would need some time to cool off.

Hermione's day was entirely too exhausting to also face an irate James Potter.

"What did you do to upset Lily?" he asked, voice an angry roar.

"That's between the two of us, Potter. None of your business. Now if you don't mind-" Hermione turned to go into the common room, but James grabbed her arm.

"She's crying, Granger. It's your fault, and I want you to fix it."

"Oh, really?" hissed Hermione, whipping around to face him. Lily hadn't deserved her ire, but this boy certainly did. "It's just assumed that I'm in the wrong? I'm sorry she's crying, really, I am, but that's not anything I can fix. Now get your hands off of me before I blast them off. Don't you _dare_ ever touch me again." She shook him off, her glare letting him know that she would gladly dismember him and sell the parts. "And don't think I've forgotten the water balloon that you and your cronies popped over my head! Are you children, is that what you are? It certainly seems like it, with such petty pranks and infantile possessiveness!"

James stepped back, blocking the portrait. "Oh, so this is about the balloon? That's why you're being such a bitch?" His face was twisted and menacing, but Hermione was too furious to care.

"It's not about the _bloody balloon! It's about you being a nosy prat!_ " Hermione shrieked, clenching her fists so tightly that her fingernails dug into her palms. "I'm tired, Potter. What happens between Lily and me is absolutely none of your business. Just because you fancy her doesn't make you her keeper! Now let me go to bed," she spat.

"It's approaching curfew, children. Perhaps you both should come inside and forget this nonsense," the Fat Lady piped up.

Hermione jumped slightly. She'd forgotten that the Fat Lady was there, observing the whole thing. "She's right. Come on," she said, recovering her equilibrium. Pushing James gently aside, who was put off guard by her abrupt change in mood, she recited the password and disappeared inside before he could stop her again.

*|II8II|*

Echo stared at her from her perch on the faucet. Hermione could have sworn that the phoenix was disappointed in her. "It's not my fault," she told her. "James was out of line. And Lily was sticking her nose where it didn't belong."

Echo kept looking.

"Okay, fine, maybe it's a little bit my fault. But could I have avoided it, really?"

Echo tilted her head just slightly and waddled forward.

Hermione sighed. "Stop looking at me, you over-glorified bird."

Should she apologize? What would she even be apologizing for? She shouldn't have told Lily while she was still worrying about the thing with Snape. That was evident then, as she sat on the floor of the loo glaring into her lap. "Can't I just go back to the Hog's Head?" she complained. "This whole friendship thing is hard. I believe I prefer assassinating Death Eaters."

The phoenix chirped enthusiastically, bobbing her head. Of course, she didn't understand Hermione's words. What had she expected?

"I need to go back out there and comfort Lily... I guess..."

She stood with some difficulty, using the sink to pull herself back up. Once Echo was stowed away in her pocket she emerged into the girls' dorm. Lily was still sniffling in her bed, laying down over the covers with her back toward Hermione.

"Lily," Hermione started. She noticed that the other girls were tactfully ignoring them, but still probably listening to every word. "Do you want to... talk about it?"

She could barely make out the shaky "No."

Hermione shrugged. There was little she could do at this point. She sat on her bed and drew her curtains around her. She'd had the curtains charmed to allow no sound to escape. It was a favor she'd asked from Dumbledore. Between Echo's clearly inhuman sounds and Hermione's nightmares there was plenty for her dorm mates to worry about, should they hear anything. She changed out of her uniform into her nightshirt there; she wouldn't want the girls to notice the scar she'd received from Dolohov in her fifth year. She had other scars, as most people did, but they were minor and had unimpressive stories behind them.

The phoenix crawled under her shirt and settled next to her heart. Hermione imagined she took comfort from hearing the steady heartbeat.

Hermione stroked the feathers hesitantly. She was grateful for Echo's presence, as always. Hermione got cold very easily nowadays, and Echo was a small furnace. Phoenixes _are_ firebirds, after all. The obvious love that Echo held for Hermione was even warmer.

With these thoughts in her mind, Hermione did her best to forget about this whole Lily business for the night. She needed to sleep.

*|II8II|*

Everyone was glacial around Hermione for the next few days. She didn't really mind. At least they were ignoring her, and she could do more of what she needed to do.

The timeline was somewhat confusing around this time period. Voldemort had already created the Locket Horcrux, quite a few years before. However, he wouldn't put it in that cave until Regulus Black became a Death Eater. That would be... this year. Sirius had been disowned the summer before his sixth year, and Regulus was forced to become a Death Eater in his place. Regulus was in his fifth year. If he was fifteen yet, it could only be recently...

Hermione felt the urge to throw up. A child was forced to join Voldemort's ranks. Oh, Merlin. A child was forced to torture and kill others... He wasn't old enough to make that choice for himself. In that moment, Hermione felt an all-consuming hatred for Walburga Black. She was the one who pressured Regulus into this.

She barely made it to the toilet before she emptied her stomach into it.

As she cleaned her teeth, Hermione resolved to do what she could for Regulus.

That was all well and good, Hermione realized after several days of trying to be friendly, but she was a Gryffindor. She had to stop trying to get a Death Eater to be her friend. It wasn't going to work, and even if it did, it would invite punishment for him. That was the very last thing she wanted.

Sirius had been giving her angry, quizzical looks lately. It must be because of her sudden interest in the brother he supposedly hated so much. He had to be wondering at her reasons.

James was quick enough to denounce her as a Slytherin whore. He didn't say it to her face, but she'd heard his comments. They were usually very loud to his friends where he knew she would hear. Lily was there sometimes, and she never said anything. That hurt Hermione quite a bit.

Usually she would escape to Hogsmeade. Aberforth didn't care that she was technically sneaking out to come work there. She knew he wouldn't. It was welcome, his silence. He had his thoughts, she had hers, and they left each other alone. There were no games or schemes there.

When Hermione was done with a shift, she would visit Keane, some nights. He seemed to care more about Echo than he did about her, but she didn't mind. In fact, she was amused. She often let him hold Echo and stare at her while she looked for books.

There was no room beyond the Dark that day. Keane told her that that didn't mean there weren't any more rooms she could access, it just meant that it wasn't time. Hermione could understand that, and satisfied herself with poring over the Light books. Her fingers itched to go through the Dark books, but Hermione knew better. She would work through each room systematically, and once she had built up a veritable wall around her, she would disappear into the world of learning for hours.

Showing up to dinner at Hogwarts didn't really matter to her anymore. Or the other meals, really. Sometimes she would eat while at Aberforth's. It was enough.

The others seemed happy to pretend she didn't exist. Wouldn't it be easier if she weren't there? Hogwarts wasn't teaching her anything, anyway.

Sleep was a little harder, too. It was fine, though. Hadn't she always done this? She had a lot to do, and a lot of things to read. Her body was used to it, even at sixteen. Occasionally a patron at the Hog's Head would tell her that she needed "to get some meat on your bones, little Miss". Hermione would laugh heartily and tell them that they needed another drink.

Echo grew steadily larger, and soon even seemed to understand Hermione's words. She renewed her attempts to teach the phoenix written language. It was slow going, but verbal comprehension helped. Keane was increasingly fascinated with Echo.

Aberforth still didn't know, but Hermione wasn't overly anxious about him finding out, either. It was only the patrons she was worried about. Echo still didn't like being left behind. It wasn't even surreal anymore. It had been months since Hermione had been truly alone, so naturally, she had gotten used to it.

*|II8II|*

"Please stop shutting us out," said Lily from the doorway.

Hermione didn't even know how to respond. Indignation reared its head, and Hermione tried half-heartedly to fight it back down. It was a losing battle. "You'd better explain what you mean," she whispered, effectively concealing her shakiness.

Lily didn't appear to be joking. "You've been avoiding us for three weeks now. I thought we were friends, but I guess you decided... decided you didn't need us anymore..."

What kind of guilt-tripping, manipulative shite was this? Hermione shook her head. They were in the dorms, so she couldn't claim that this wasn't the time... and she was a Gryffindor, wasn't she? This was a conversation they'd be having eventually, so it was probably best to just meet it head on. "I wasn't avoiding you," she said slowly, not even realizing it was a lie until it was out of her mouth. Too late, she supposed. "And we are still friends." _So stop being so dramatic, would you?_

"Where were you, then? You don't really come to meals anymore, and you don't sleep here most nights." Lily was about to cry, Hermione observed. She wished she had the patience for all of this.

"I was busy." Her tone was clipped. She didn't have _time_ for this. "I don't know about you, but your boyfriend and his cronies certainly don't tolerate me well anymore. You _have_ noticed, haven't you?" _Don't you dare lie. I know you have._

Lily nodded, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Hermione pulled Lily into an embrace, figuring a physical display of affection was the swiftest way to a reconciliation.

It seemed to be working, actually. Lily wrapped her arms around Hermione's middle and sobbed, clinging desperately to her. Hermione shifted subtly to avoid Lily touching Echo.

That movement seemed to remind Lily of a question. "Why do you wear your robes all the time now? It's been since we all got back from Christmas, I think." It seemed Lily did have some shred of tact left in her, because she didn't mention Hermione's living arrangements. She smiled into Lily's hair.

Lily pulled back after some time, cheeriness back in her shining eyes. "We're good, then?" she said in typical Gryffindor fashion.

Hermione nodded, somewhat impatiently. She hadn't missed being a teenager.

She should have anticipated it, but she was still too shocked to resist as Lily dragged her down to the Common Room. The Marauders were equally surprised to see the girls in front of them. Lily had obviously been crying, but she was happy enough now. Hermione watched James's eyes rake over them both, lingering in concern on Lily's red eyes and with contempt on Hermione's hair. Hermione glared back. Just because she and Lily had made up didn't mean she and James would ever settle back into the tentative truce they'd enjoyed.

Peter gave a small wave, which Hermione acknowledged with a smile. He was a little pathetic, yes, but she couldn't help but be nice to him.

Remus studied her from behind his book. He did not make direct eye contact, but he never did before, so Hermione discounted it.

Sirius seemed truly glad to see her. He jumped up and hugged her, leaving Hermione to try not to flinch or be too overly awkward. She wanted to shove him off, but this was not the time. That would hurt him. He was showing her that he accepted her back into the fold and that he forgave her, so it would be awful of her to reject that.

Since when did she care about the boy getting hurt?

There was one problem, though. Sirius's hugs were full-body, with lots of pressing and entwining. Hermione could feel Echo's annoyance, and she prayed that she wouldn't move too much or make a sound.

Praying was not enough. Echo squawked and tried to escape, ending up outside her robes, clinging on. Sirius let go entirely and took a step back, eyeing the phoenix apprehensively. Echo clambered up Hermione's body to perch delicately on her shoulder.

Hermione could feel their eyes on her, some accusing, some excited, but all confused.

"Say hello, then, Echo," Hermione said resignedly.


	7. Year I- Bitterly Distant

**_ Chapter Seven-  _ ** **_Year I-_ ** _Bitterly Distant_

Echo responded by trilling. It was such a soft noise that usually it would only have been heard by Hermione, but the silence was so complete in the Common Room at that moment that it probably reached the ears of even the Fat Lady. Hermione spared a thought of worry for the rest of the people there, but she didn't have time to think of them for long. What would happen, would happen.

It took several moments for Sirius to move, and that was to stumble backward.

"Is that-" James began. His hand moved up to his hair, but he did not tousle it.

Lily was looking first at Hermione, then Echo, and then at the bewildered faces of the Marauders. "What am I missing?" she asked in a near-whisper. "What is that?"

"That's a phoenix, isn't it?" Remus peered around his fellows to better view Echo.

Hermione nodded, trying not to feel as amused as she was. "Her name is Echo," she said, reaching up to stroke her feathers.

Sirius finally unfroze, it seemed, because he came forward again.

"She's never really met people, so try not to be too obnoxious, would you?" Hermione said. She wouldn't be responsible for whatever Echo did. To be honest, she wasn't really sure what to expect, although she didn't suppose violence was on that list. Phoenixes wouldn't even hurt another living being in order to eat.

"How did you- where did you-?" Sirius mumbled, staring into the phoenix's eyes.

Sighing, Hermione wished she'd come up with a cover story for this beforehand. As it was, her lie would sound really lame... "I got her as an egg from a friend over the holidays." There, that wasn't too bad, was it? As long as they didn't start discussing Class A Non-Tradable Materials, of which Hermione was sure phoenix eggs were one. Perhaps phoenix eggs hadn't yet been placed on that list? No one appeared to be concerned, not even Remus, whom she knew would have extensively researched all sorts of magical creatures.

As it was, they all seemed to accept her explanation. "Why were you hiding her?" Lily asked, still clearly not understanding how _rare_ this was.

Peter answered for them, surprisingly enough. He had been quietly listening up until then. "Phoenixes are really hard to, er, tame, right? I know the Headmaster has one, but I've never heard of anyone else successfully making one their pet." He wrung his hands, clearly uncomfortable under their eyes.

"There's a Quidditch team, too, I believe," Hermione interjected, her flippant tone making it clear exactly what she thought of _that_. "She isn't my _pet_ , Peter. I raised her from an egg. She's entirely sentient, and understands every word we're saying. She's more like my child, or my friend." Why was she arguing the point? It would only bring more questions. She didn't need to explain the relationship between them; it wasn't any of their business. Still, her hackles rose when she heard Peter call Echo a _pet_. That implied ownership. Phoenixes were _owned_ by no one.

"How _did_ you hide her?" Lily asked. "We live in the same dorm room! What does she eat? How is it none of us have ever even suspected you were hiding something?"

What kind of question was that? Was Lily really so assured in the observational skills of a group of teenagers? "None of you noticed anything about Remus until your third year. Please don't insult me by saying that I couldn't possibly hide something so small as a baby phoenix from you." She didn't realize that her tone became cold, a clear warning that this topic should not be pursued. There were certain things she didn't want them knowing.

Lily crossed her arms, apparently not knowing what to say to that. She also seemed to completely forget about the questions that Hermione hadn't answered.

Shite. Did Lily know yet? She had to assume that she did, or else she would be asking questions. Thank Merlin she'd said it so quietly! There were other people in the Common Room, after all.

Peter looked as if he couldn't decide between horror and terror.

"How do you know?" hissed James, his expression mutinous. Hermione looked past him to see Remus. She immediately felt guilt wash over her. He looked so afraid, as if his world were crumbling around him.

"Observation," she said quietly, still looking at Remus. He hadn't relaxed at all. "And I'm not planning on telling anyone. I'm sorry for bringing it up now. That was stupid of me."

Sirius regarded all of them. "Let's go to our dorm and discuss this," he said tautly, for once the voice of reason. Even he looked as if he were trying to rein in his fury. "I don't think this is the place."

Hermione acquiesced immediately, knowing that this was one thing that she shouldn't resist them on. The others followed mutely behind them as they went up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Once they were all inside, Sirius whirled around and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. James was clearly leaving the interrogation to him, whether because Sirius was the more expressive of the two or because James just couldn't stand to look at her at that moment. "What do you know and how do you know it?" Sirius demanded, his voice so stentorian that normally Hermione would have been uncomfortable.

There would probably be bruises there in the morning, Hermione thought dispassionately. "I know that Remus is a werewolf. I've been here for a few months now. He fits the symptoms to a T, and I've pieced things together from your inside jokes. 'Moony', really? No one ever claimed you were subtle," she added, nose crinkling in disgust. "I know you all are Animagi, too. Except Lily, of course. Did you tell her? No, I don't think so. Sorry about that, but you did ask."

A surprised Sirius let go of her, and she rubbed her shoulders. Lily was raising her eyebrow at James, who was fidgeting under her gaze like a little boy caught in a lie. No one met her eyes.

Remus looked a bit relieved, though still tense. Hermione addressed him then. "Like I said, your secret is safe from me. This world isn't fond of those who are different, so I would only harm you. Besides, if the Headmaster thinks it's safe for you to attend Hogwarts, I don't think anyone has the right to say otherwise."

There was a thick silence after that, and Hermione was tempted to turn and leave. Remus crossed over to his bed and sat down heavily. The mattress squeaked under his weight. "I'm glad you think so," he said, his voice hoarse.

*|II8II|*

Lily seemed eager to spend time with Hermione, which Hermione couldn't exactly fault her for. Lily had been sincerely happy to be her friend, and now that the rift between them was (mostly) mended Lily seemed to want to make up for lost time. They sat together at every meal, with James on her other side. If James was there, the other three were there too.

"You remember that bookstore? Harry's?" Hermione asked, figuring that she should at least meet her halfway. Of course, Hermione had spent many an afternoon in Keane's company surrounded by books. She didn't say that to Lily. Lily would probably find out on her own.

"No, I'd forgotten! Do you want to go there tomorrow? I can always meet up with James later on." Lily chewed her lip. "Is that OK, James?"

"Hm?" He said, turning to her.

"I'm going with Hermione to a bookstore first thing tomorrow, so can we meet up at the Three Broomsticks when I'm done?"

From his expression, James wasn't happy about it, but he agreed. He probably would give Lily anything she asked for. It was adorable, honestly.

"We'll go right after breakfast, OK?" Lily said, beaming.

An unexpected warmth permeated Hermione's body. Lily was willing to give up time with her boyfriend in order to spend it with her? Overcome with emotion, Hermione could only manage a murmured, "Yes, if you'd like." She was probably overreacting, but it had been so long since someone had chosen her over someone else.

"Great!" said Lily. It was fantastic that Hermione could make someone else so happy from something so simple.

The feeling of being wanted stuck with her for the next few hours and even when she lay in her bed that night. She was sleeping in the dormitory again, if only to placate Lily. It was easier than usual to fall asleep.

Her cheerful mood even extended into the next morning. Lily's mood, however, eclipsed her own. Lily was ecstatic, and could hardly sit still at breakfast. Hermione had time only for a few bites of toast before Lily was pulling her out of her seat and dragging her to the front doors. Filch waved them through after verifying their permission slips. Dumbledore had signed Hermione's, since she was an adult and had no guardians.

The carriage ride passed quickly. Lily's euphoria fed Hermione's, and they made silly jokes and laughed until they wheezed. Hermione couldn't remember being so happy in a long time. The two fourth-year Ravenclaws eyed them with distaste and edged away from the clearly-insane pair, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to feel self-conscious.

Lily and Hermione parted from their judgmental travel partners once the carriage stopped. The cobblestone path led straight into the heart of Hogsmeade. Hermione took Lily's hand in her own and led her to Harry's.

"Miss Granger," said Keane as soon as she opened the door. "Miss Evans. How may I help you?" It was no wonder that he remembered Lily's name, since Hermione had told him all about her, but Lily smiled and blushed in a most fetching manner. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. Weren't redheads supposed to flush all over unattractively when they blushed? She felt so lied to.

Keane tactfully ignored the obvious crush, skating his eyes over to the bookshelves. Hermione smirked at his slight discomfort.

"No, we're just browsing," Lily said, cheeks still pink. The time-traveler shook her head, letting Keane know that she meant otherwise. Keane raised an eyebrow and bowed, sending them on to "browse".

Lily went straight to the second room that day. Hermione followed, in part because Lily's hand still clasped hers. When Lily finally let go in order to grab a book, making sure Lily wasn't looking, Hermione slipped through the door into the third room. She hadn't gone in there since her very first visit, though her fingers itched for all the forbidden knowledge.

"Were the curses removed from these?" she asked, looking around at the Dark books. Keane would hear her.

"Most of them. Some were bound into the soul of the book and cannot be removed without destroying it. Those should be handled with these-" he handed her a rather ordinary-looking pair of clear gloves- "which put the curse to sleep."

Hermione turned around to see that he'd materialized behind her without a sound. Not unnerved in the slightest, Hermione slipped the gloves on, then watched in amazement as they melted into her skin. "How do I get them off?" she asked, not looking up.

"Command it," replied the keeper of the shop as if it were common knowledge. It probably was, for that matter, to anyone who'd grown up in the wizarding world.

"Gloves, get off?" Hermione's attempt at commanding came out more of a question.

Keane sighed. "Nothing's going to listen to you if you call that a command. Try again."

Hermione glared at the aggravating man. "Gloves, get off," she ordered, trying to imitate her own voice when scolding Ron and Harry. There was no visible transition, but the gloves were sitting on her hands once more.

Keane applauded sarcastically.

"You hush," Hermione scowled, only barely keeping the corners of her mouth from twitching up into a grin. Only silence responded, and Hermione didn't have to look to know that he'd gone elsewhere. All the better, she thought, hands reaching toward a book titled simply, **_Grimoire._**

*|II8II|*

The Marauders kept her close the next few weeks, probably to be sure that she wouldn't tell anyone their secrets. Hermione scoffed to herself. As if that would stop her, if she really wanted to? She wondered if it had occurred to them to simply Obliviate her.

Lily tried to pretend everything was normal, but Hermione noticed that her bubbliness was stiff and forced. She wasn't entirely sure what caused it. Was it Echo's suddenly open presence? That was the only solid reason Hermione could come up with.

People could be so maddening. Hermione hoped one day she would understand them. She'd always found other people confusing. Even as a child she didn't quite know how to comport herself around others. She'd once heard one of her teachers say that she was "creepy, with those eyes..." She could only assume that meant that she looked too long at others, making them uncomfortable. Making them uncomfortable wasn't her intent at all. She just wanted to understand, that's all.

"Miss Granger?"

Kablan was getting irritating, with his matchmaker attitude and his insistence that she should "come out of her shell more". He had a talent for romantic bologna. "Yes, Professor?" she answered, perhaps a little too sweetly.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Kablan gestured around to the empty classroom.

Oh, right. She'd spent the past weeks slowly introducing Echo to the castle and its inhabitants, but not allowing her to be seen during her classes. Today was the day that she would talk to each of her teachers about Echo's presence.

"Yes, sir." she stood and approached his desk. "I don't know if you noticed, but a few weeks ago I acquired a..." She struggled to find the proper term. She couldn't call Echo her pet, because that just wasn't the case. It would be akin to calling a centaur her pet. Calling her a companion would invite questions. "Familiar. A phoenix."

Kablan nodded. "I have noticed."

Hermione smiled at him. "I was wondering whether I could possibly bring her with me to class? She won't be a distraction, I promise, and she gets anxious when I leave her behind..."

As she was at that moment. Echo was simply too large by then to be hidden in Hermione's robes. She doubted that even Hagrid's pockets could successfully harbor the adolescent phoenix.

The professor considered for a moment. "I don't see a problem with it," he said.

"Thank you, professor!" Hermione beamed girlishly, as she'd learned adults like to see. "Echo will be perfectly well behaved, I swear!" With that, she flounced out of the room, hair bouncing behind her.

Had she overdone it? No, probably not. Kablan saw the world in such an exaggerated manner anyway that dramatics couldn't go wrong with him.

"Were you telling him about Echo?"

Hermione jumped and let out a small yelp, whipping out her wand and jabbing it into her adversary's chest- except it wasn't an enemy at all. "Merlin's beard, Sirius! Don't do that! Yes, I was. That's the last of them, I believe." She lowered her wand sheepishly. Her heart was still just about beating out of her chest, and she took several deep breaths. She still hadn't gotten over the utter panic when another person confronted her unexpectedly. Fighting in a war would do that to a person.

Sirius frowned, probably at her unusual response. She was doing odd things like this far too often lately. "That's... good."

She turned her head away, feeling blood rush to her face. "Where are the others?" she murmured.

"The Great Hall. Dinner will be starting soon."

They began walking, and Hermione wondered at the picture they made. She, a short girl with a mass of hair that could block out the sun, and he, a tall boy with impeccable grooming and grace. They were from such different worlds. Was that why he was so fascinated by her? She knew that he hated his background. He wanted to be like her.

It made sense. She was a Muggleborn girl who had no family and an entirely mysterious past. He was a Pureblood boy who loathed everything about the House he was raised in. Perhaps he saw something in her, something that he wanted for himself. For all that she had tragic secrets she knew that at first glance her life offered exactly what Sirius desired.

Of course, he didn't know that she'd destroyed her family and couldn't save her future. He didn't know that she wouldn't wish this existence on anyone. He was young yet, and she wasn't sure he would understand if she were to tell him. None of them would.

Merlin, what was she doing? Making _friends?_ What a joke! They weren't her friends, and they would never _be_ her friends. They were children, and she had a job to do. They had each other. She needed to back off, remove herself cleanly from their lives. Her desire for affection and companionship could not be fulfilled here. Friendship wasn't for her. Her presence had already altered the future. What if she was still around by Halloween of 1981? She probably wouldn't even be able to save them, because something would inevitably go wrong. No, she needed to watch and not get involved, treat life here like a science experiment.

Hermione didn't realize that they were both in silent thought until they were within hearing range of the Great Hall. She felt Sirius's gaze on her.

"Are you all right?" Sirius had seen her facial expression. "You've been odd today."

Yes, because she was usually better at hiding her more unusual behaviors. Hermione wiped all emotion from her face. "I'm fine," she said tonelessly, breezing past the boy into the Great Hall.

"You sure?" asked Sirius, catching up to her easily.

Hermione nodded, schooling every inch of her body to communicate cool indifference. She sat with their gr- _Sirius's_ _group_. They were all _looking_ at her. They were _concerned_. All except for James. He, as usual, couldn't care less about her. This time, it didn't hurt at all; in fact, it was comforting.

"I don't think you're sure." Sirius vaulted over the bench, as was his usual method of sitting. Before, she'd been amused, but she forced herself to be annoyed. _Can't he do anything without being dramatic?_

She shrugged, as if she couldn't care less what he thought. This was hard. It hurt. "I have some reading to do," she murmured mechanically.

"But you just got here! And you didn't eat anything!" Lily protested.

Hermione left anyway, ignoring the eyes burning holes in her back.

*|II8II|*

"Aberforth? Sir?" she called. Echo was perched on her shoulder, as usual. The walk through Hogsmeade was a nerve-wracking one, since Hermione could no longer hide her, but it was perfectly uneventful.

"Welcome back!" bellowed a patron, raising his glass to her. The room was suddenly ringing with similar cries.

"Whatcha got there?" asked another, coming up to her and peering at Echo.

Anxiety gripped her heart, constricting it until she could hardly breath. "E-E-Echo," she replied, and something in her quaking voice caused him to take a step back.

Recognition flashed in his eyes. "That there's a phoenix, innit," he said lowly.

Hermione turned past him and went up the stairs. Her breaths came quickly, and uncontrollable tremors shook her whole body.

She was an idiot. Hogwarts students were one thing, but these were grown men and women. She didn't have the means to protect Echo. What if someone decided they wanted a phoenix for themselves?

Echo preened her feathers, clearly bored. Hermione eyed her powerful wings and razor-sharp beak. Those talons were equally deadly...

Perhaps Echo didn't need anyone to protect her. Perhaps Echo could protect herself.

Relief washed over Hermione at the thought.

"Granger?" A gruff voice behind her made her fairly jump out of her skin. "Where did you get a phoenix?"

"Hello, sir." She tried to say it normally but it came out a hoarse whisper. "This is Echo. My familiar. I received her as an egg, from a- from a friend."

Aberforth raised an eyebrow. "You know that trading phoenix eggs is illegal, I'm sure."

Hermione winced. "Yes," she said. "But this was... different."

He seemed to accept that. That was one of the good things about Abe-he left things well enough alone.

There. Her task was finished. She turned to leave, but that required emerging into the main room. Her nerves couldn't take that, not yet. "Sir? What should I do?"

"About what?"

Yes, Aberforth had heard about her budding friendships. He had proved to be, if not a kind ear, then a willing one. "I... I cut them off. They were a distraction, and they're finding out too much... But now that I've done it, I... I'm not... sure-"

"You were right to do it. They're in danger by being associated with you. There's too much at risk here, and with a phoenix in the mix, things have become too unpredictable." He was so matter-of-fact about it, appearing entirely unconcerned. Perhaps he had even been thinking this long before, when she had first mentioned them. Though Hermione searched, she could not find any sympathy in his eyes.

It struck her again that he was completely unlike his brother, who would have encouraged cultivating her friendships and sent her off with an infuriatingly understanding smile. Aberforth was plain and sincere where Albus pulled strings from behind his sweets and twinkling, eccentric exterior.

She knew why she'd asked him rather than Albus, and it was because she knew he would agree with her. Still, she was disappointed. Had she wanted him to tell her that she was doing the wrong thing? Hermione looked down, avoiding meeting Abe's gaze. "Thank you, sir." Soon she was down the stairs and out the doors, not waiting for his reply. The eyes followed her out onto the street.

She shivered as a blast of wind cut through her robes easily and blew her hair back from her face. Echo gripped her shoulder more tightly, and Hermione felt the hint of talons against her skin. She removed the phoenix from her shoulder and cradled her in her arms, clutching the heat close to her chest. Echo was clearly thrilled with the contact, as evidenced by the purring trill.

At least Echo was there, even if Hermione couldn't afford any human friends.

Personal issues aside, she needed to figure out how to get the Cup. Bellatrix and Rodolphus were married by now, according to Sirius. They had been given Hufflepuff's Cup as a wedding gift, without being told what it was. They kept it safe all the same, in their Gringott's vault. In Hermione's original timeline she'd had a hair from Bellatrix, plus help from her boys and a goblin. This time she would have to come up with a plan that she could execute on her own. Hopefully she wouldn't have to escape on a dragon this time.

Echo was not unnerved by her silence as a human companion would have been. Hermione was comforted by this even as she plotted.

Soon enough she reached Zonko's, though not as soon as she would have had she not wanted more time to think. It was closed by then, of course, but Hermione wasn't concerned. She edged around the building cautiously, not wishing to attract the attention of any of the few still wandering the streets. The back of the shop was completely invisible from the road, and they hadn't done much to spruce it up. It was overgrown and smelled of chemicals on a warm day, but the snow covered any vegetation and Hermione could only smell the sharp, bitter scent of the cold. She covered her nose with her scarf all the same, out of habit and in a likely-ineffective attempt to keep herself from inhaling any dangerous substances. Not far away she could see what functioned as a dumpster where they clearly Banished any used or faulty equipment and products. The snow was undisturbed.

There were stairs that led to the basement of the building. Hermione had found them by chance on her first trip through this passage and thanked her lucky stars that she'd found a more efficient way in and out of Hogsmeade.

The door had not been locked, since Hermione had come through it only hours before. Employees rarely went to the basement at all, much less out to the unappealing backyard. She pushed it open slowly, since moving too fast caused the hinges to squeal loudly. The door closed on its own, blocking out the wind as it did. She and Echo both shuddered in relief. Hermione lowered the scarf from her mouth and nose and took several deep breaths before moving to a stack of boxes on the far side of the room. They were easy enough to shove aside, revealing a cleverly-hidden trapdoor. It took a moment of feeling around the dark wood before finding the ring used to lift it.

Echo knew the drill well by then. The phoenix clambered onto Hermione's back, clinging to the fabric of her thick coat. Hermione's arms were free, then, and she climbed with practiced ease down the ladder, although it was almost too dim to see where she was placing her hands and feet.

She remembered well enough listening to the twins talking about the passages of Hogwarts. Perhaps they didn't realize that she was listening; after all, Hermione Granger was the well-to-do bookworm Prefect. She wasn't exactly known for rule-breaking. They had been speaking to Harry, of course, when they mentioned a passage behind a mirror that had caved in during Harry's second year. She disregarded it, but then later Sirius mentioned it again, saying that it was large enough to hold DA meetings in. It would be many years before it would become unusable, so Hermione fully planned on taking advantage of it.

The tunnel was, indeed, very large. It was dark, too, but Hermione did not cast a Lumos. If she had, Sirius would have noticed her presence before she discovered his.

Hermione spotted the light around the corner, and upon freezing in place and listening she heard the scuffling of feet. There wasn't enough time to even try to hide before Sirius rounded the curve and nearly stumbled into her.

The Marauders used this tunnel, Hermione knew that well. She hadn't expected anyone to be down there that late, however. Usually they went earlier in the night. Something was different, and Hermione felt her heart speed up in response.

"Hermione?" he said, peering at her face. "I came down here to talk to you. I mean, I- we all know that you go to Hogsmeade when you're avoiding us."

The day before she would have stammered some excuse and tried to steer conversation onto safe ground. That would have been the response of a friend, but she could not be that for him anymore. "Sirius. I have somewhere to be, so if you'll excuse me, I must be going." She breezed past him, her shoulders stiff and posture rigid.

Sirius wasn't having it. He grabbed her arm and pulled, forcing her to turn and face him once more.

"What do you want?" she hissed, shaking him off and rubbing her wrist.

"Why are you being so hostile? Did I do something?" Sirius, bless him, had genuine remorse written all over him. Of course he wouldn't understand, and he wouldn't just let it go. Hermione's resolve almost abandoned her, but she couldn't allow that to happen, couldn't allow him to sway her. She couldn't explain, even though she owed him even one good reason.

Her eyes closed for only a second, focusing on calming herself down. She had to be a statue, cold and unyielding. Unfeeling. "Please leave me alone from now on. You and your friends. I'll stay out of your way, so stay out of mine." Her lips pressed together into a thin line, keeping her confessions locked inside her chest where they belonged.

A statue would not have cried at the stricken expression on Sirius's face. He did not go after her when she turned to go, for which she was grateful. He could not see any sign of regret. That would ruin everything. Only in the darkness could she let the tears fall. Her earlier happiness seemed worlds away. Echo was silent and kind, but even her warmth couldn't keep the ice in Hermione's heart from spreading.


	8. Year I- Upstart Mudblood

_**Chapter Eigh t- Year I-** Upstart Mudblood_

"She's not in the castle," muttered Sirius, feverishly checking the Map over and over for Hermione Granger. He did not see James rolling his eyes from the other bed, nor would he have cared.

"Why are you so obsessed with this bird, Padfoot?" James whined. "If she doesn't want to be around us anymore, fine. You've already tried to get her back- how many times, Moony?"

"Four," Remus replied without looking up from his book.

"Four times," said James. "It hasn't done anything. You should just let it go already."

Sirius shook his head. "You never liked her, anyway."

James didn't _hate_ Hermione, but he definitely harbored no affection for her. The first day of term, James had told Sirius that he didn't want her around. _She's a bitch,_ he'd said, referring to her frosty welcome. And then there were those moments where her eyes would lose focus and she would stare into space. There was an old rage in her eyes during those times, something deep and painful. _Maybe she killed somebody,_ James had said. He was unnerved by her, even afraid. _She's hiding something,_ he'd insisted. Sirius didn't disagree. _A lot of somethings._ Secrets were fine with the Marauders. They had more than their fair share, of course. As far as he knew, though, none of them ever looked haunted. Not like that.

Where James was wary, Sirius was fascinated.

He paused and jabbed his wand at the parchment. "There! She's in the mirror passage!" Only a twinge of hurt accompanied the triumph. It had been three weeks since she'd cut them off. A part of him understood why James was confused, but who was _James_ to talk? He'd been chasing Evans for far longer than Sirius had been chasing Hermione. Even then, Sirius wasn't trying to get Hermione to date him, just to talk to him, maybe even explain what was happening to her.

"How did she even find out about that one?" mused Peter, his voice muffled. He was face-down on his pillow, kicking his feet lazily in the air. "You never told her, did you, Padfoot?"

"Nope. She used the one-eyed witch passage, too, at the beginning of the year. She knows about the ones inside the castle, and I think she knows about the Shrieking Shack. I'm not sure about that one, since I've never seen her use it. Why would she, anyway, if she knew where it leads?" Sirius watched the little dot bearing Hermione's name travel up to the Headmaster's tower and stop for only a second at the gargoyles before moving upward. He raised one eyebrow, peering closer at the Map. He had expected her to go straight to her dormitory. What business did she have with Dumbledore? "She's in Dumbledore's office," he announced. "He isn't in there...?"

James grabbed the Map from Sirius's hands. "You're right- but she isn't doing anything. She's just sitting in that chair." He exchanged a brief grin with Sirius. They knew "that chair" quite well.

"So she's waiting for him?" Sirius tilted the edge of the parchment down so he could see it.

"I think so?"

Sirius tapped the fifth corridor. "Oh, look, there he is!" The dot was moving swiftly toward his office.

Peter sat up with a yawn. "It's time for dinner. Come on, let's go!" He waddled to the door eagerly.

"Your shoes," Remus reminded him, shutting his book.

"Oh, right."

"Are you coming?" asked Remus.

James glanced at him. "Yeah, we are," he replied. He handed the Map back to Sirius, who folded it and stowed it away in his robe pocket after a quick "Mischief managed".

They traveled as a pack, always. Crowds parted to let them through, which Sirius appreciated. He was sure they knew that the Marauders tended to have a few tricks up their sleeves.

"Do you think she'll come to dinner today?" Peter fretted.

"Not you, too," James groaned. He clutched his heart and swooned back in a hyperbolic fashion, but they all knew that he was getting annoyed with this whole Granger business.

Sirius frowned. Peter was right. Hermione had stopped coming to meals in the Great Hall, and he never saw her go to the kitchens. He watched the Map for her so often that he would have noticed if she had. He could only assume that she ate in Hogsmeade. Maybe at the Hog's Head?

"Lighten up, mate. I'm sure she's eating somewhere. That's her business. You're not her mother, yeah?" James nudged Sirius's shoulder, hard. Sirius stumbled to the side a few steps. He shoved back, but stopped caring halfway through and only managed a light push.

They reached the Great Hall soon after. James opened his arms and Lily flew into them. Sirius waited patiently for the pair to quit snogging. Peter made gagging noises behind Lily's back, and Sirius snickered as James flipped them off with both hands.

Just as they'd all suspected, Hermione wasn't in the Great Hall. Was she still in Dumbledore's office, though? Sirius knew that he shouldn't take out the Map in public. It was their trump card, after all, but he needed to know where Hermione was. All he had to do was play it cool, as if it were just any old parchment. He reached into his pocket and laid the Map out on the table, keeping the sides folded up so no one else could see. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he mouthed, surreptitiously poking the Map with his wand.

Ah. There she was.

*|II8II|*

Several tables away, Regulus listened with one ear to the low chatter and strained with the other to hear what his brother was doing. Sirius had been acting odd for quite a while- since the Granger girl stopped associating with them, he reckoned. He didn't blame her in the slightest, but Sirius was clearly bothered.

Regulus had never stopped looking after his brother, even though his mother would say that they weren't family anymore. It wasn't that simple, not by a long shot. His mother could blast all of her relatives off of the family tree, but that wouldn't erase the years of love and companionship that they'd shared. Still, Regulus couldn't afford to be disowned. He was the last male heir. The Ancient and Noble House of Black could not continue if Regulus were cast off.

Their parents should never have disowned Sirius. They should never have demanded he join the Dark Lord's forces. If they had known their son at all, they would have recognized that he wouldn't agree even under the Cruciatus. Regulus still wondered whether they did actually know, and did it on purpose so they would have some excuse to disown him. Perhaps Regulus would never know for sure. He wasn't such a fool that he would tell anyone or, Merlin forbid, ask them.

What was that parchment? Sirius's eyes were dark and focused. Perhaps "obsession" wasn't such a strong word, in his case. Sirius was a Black, after all. They were infamous for their madness. The parchment must have had something to do with Granger, Regulus reasoned. He couldn't remember Sirius being quite so passionate about anything else.

"Black. Your thoughts?" The sound of Avery's grating, adenoidal voice pulled Regulus's attention back to the Slytherin table.

He had only barely been listening, but that was enough. It took only a second to put together a suitable response. "Utter rubbish. Minister Midgeon must be replaced; we can't have a Minister who cannot defy the public when they are clearly wrong."

Some of the boys nodded, satisfied with that. None of them would have expected anything else from him.

It drew only a few glances when he rose to leave, and those glances were brief and unconcerned. Regulus always left dinner early, to avoid the ridiculous amount of traffic as everyone shuffled on dead feet back to their Common Rooms.

The walk down to the dungeons was a quiet one, as usual. The buzz from the Great Hall gradually faded to nothing, and that was why he heard her approaching.

"Going somewhere, Granger?" he asked conversationally.

"Yes," she said without sarcasm.

"You weren't in the Great Hall."

"I rarely am. I'm flattered you noticed." That part did hold a bit of scorn, but it was subtle, so Regulus couldn't be sure.

Regulus slowed so that they were walking side by side. Granger didn't seem to care, and she didn't acknowledge it. "My brother has been growing concerned, you see," he prodded. "Concerned" was one word for it, anyway.

If he hadn't been looking for a reaction he wouldn't have noticed the pain twisting her features before her voluminous hair fell between them and hid her face. "That's his problem," Granger said. Her voice was controlled and even a little flippant, but Regulus now knew better. He'd spent his whole life around people with more secrets than teeth, and he liked to think he'd discovered most of them. Granger was a Gryffindor, and like all of her kin she would be easy to read for someone like him.

His curiosity was killing him, but he knew that nothing she would say from then on would be honest. "Here I leave you. Goodnight, Granger," he said, flashing his teeth at her in a fair approximation of a smile. The friendliness was wasted on her, unfortunately, as she was already turning away.

"Goodnight, Black."

He watched her continue down the hallway, her shoulders hunched and head bowed. Granger held no obvious contempt for him, which was refreshing. He had expected her to be more like his brother, who had always hated Slytherins and patronized him for being younger. After a moment, Regulus began walking again. His bed was waiting for him.

In the morning his owl came to him, predictably. Regulus had been waiting for a reply from his mother for two days, and was pleased to finally untie the scroll from the bird's leg. He broke the seal and read the missive.

_Dear Regulus,_

_Your last letter finds me well. Your father is also fine, though we fear he may be succumbing to stress as of late. As I have mentioned, he is helping your Uncle Cygnus in negotiating your cousin Narcissa's marriage to one Lucius Malfoy. The match will strengthen our bloodline and will be well worth it in the future, but I must say that Abraxas Malfoy is very much deceived in how much we are willing to spend on Narcissa's dowry. He should be grateful that your worthless blood traitor of a cousin is no longer part of the family. Abraxas will receive half of the blood traitor's former dowry, which is sizable enough on its own. Your father has tried and is trying to tell the man this, but he will not see sense. Though it is not my place, I must say that the Malfoys will want for much if Narcissa's sons take after their grandfather. This is the most pressing of news, as it is vital you know of your family's affairs before the others do. Merlin knows Abraxas Malfoy will have bragged about the proceedings in all the tearooms of Britain, from the highborn to the mudbloods. Pureblood the Malfoys may be, but they still lost any sense of grace many generations since._

_Your Uncle Alphard is planning on making Sirius his heir, going directly against what your father and I have ordered. It is not my place to be angry at the man, but I certainly won't be doing him any favors. He has chosen the blood traitor. He can live with the consequences._

_I trust that your marks remain high, my son. Your intelligence is the prize of our House, and it must be known. Your own bride must be able to keep up with your impressive intellect, and it gives me no small amount of pride to inform you that Leto Greengrass is now your betrothed. She would have been married to your wretched brother, but as he is no longer our family the contract now passes to you, as the heir. It simply would have been unforgivably offensive to the Greengrasses to rob their daughter of such a desirable match._

_Your Mother,_

_Mrs Walburga Black_

Regulus took a deep breath, staring at the flourish on his mother's signature. It was just like her to leave such important news for last, wasn't it? He was sure Leto Greengrass was a lovely person, but he didn't much appreciate getting his brother's leftovers. Even so, he wouldn't dream of complaining, as that would be the ultimate insult against the girl, her parents, and his parents.

Later, up in his dorm, he began drafting a reply.

_Dear Mother,_

_Yours and father's decisions are beyond my reproach, should I begin to feel any. I thank you. How soon will the contract be finished? Will I meet Miss Greengrass before we are wed? I know I have seen her before, but only as Sirius's betrothed. We have never spoken more than a few polite words. How will I measure her intelligence if I cannot speak to her?_

_Sirius will not be destitute, then? I cannot say I feel anything more than indifference on the matter. He has been acting strangely as of late. I suspect it must be his obsession over one Hermione Granger._

_I wish Father and Narcissa luck in their associations with the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy is a charming enough man, and certainly more cultured than his father. It must be the influence of his mother. Narcissa will bear him healthy sons, I know it. She will bring honor to us, unlike her sister. Do not fear._

_Yours,_

_Regulus Black_

The reply came the next morning at breakfast, which was an unusually brief wait.

_Dear Regulus,_

_I am proud that you are accepting this whole business with such grace, as much as I wish you could be more enthusiastic. I suppose the girl is ecstatic, and why wouldn't she be? This match is the best thing that has happened to her family in generations. The contract will be finished within the next two years. You should be able to be wed on your seventeenth birthday, should you so choose. As far as meeting her, that is reasonable enough. I will speak to your father about it. I need not lecture you on the sanctity of marriage and the necessity for pure virtue, I trust._

_Hermione Granger? I cannot say that I know the name. "Granger" is not a pureblood family, so is this little chit half-blood scum? Or, even worse, a Mudblood? That is exactly the sort of company Sirius would keep, although now they are all the company he could keep. He should have thought twice before forcing me to disown him. A blood traitor cannot ask for much in society. Come, my son. Tell me about this Hermione Granger._

_I would write more, but I fear my head is aching terribly. I have taken a potion for it, but it doesn't seem to be working as quickly as I would like._

_Your Mother,_

_Walburga Black_

Regulus had no doubt that he wasn't his mother's only source of information at Hogwarts, for all that he was her most trusted one. It would be pointless to deny her information she could receive elsewhere. He wanted to remain involved in this affair, and the only way that would happen was if he proved himself useful.

_Dear Mother,_

_I look forward to meeting her._

_Yes, Granger is a Mudblood. She seems proud of it, from what I've observed. She was taken in by Sirius's band of misfits almost immediately. To her credit, she didn't seem particularly willing. Very little is known of her past. When asked, she doesn't even come up with a lie, she just refuses to respond. There is a rumor going around that she's a refugee of war, though I don't know enough to prove or disprove it._

_One thing does perplex me, Mother. Why should you care who Sirius talks to? He is as low as she is now, being a blood traitor._

_Yours,_

_Regulus Black_

It wasn't a subtle tactic, to make his mother question why exactly she cared. Perhaps she would drop the matter altogether, although that wasn't likely. Regulus rubbed his temples. A migraine was on its way.

*|II8II|*

"Are you sure about this?" Aberforth asked once again.

Hermione nodded, face wan and even a little green. "I need to. There's a Horcrux in there... I have to get it."

"You couldn't leave that one until the end?" If she didn't know better, she would almost think he was concerned for her. And yet, his eyes held none of the worry that the old Abe would have. He cared about the mission, not her.

"I could," she said. She could leave it until the end, and it would be wiser to do so. However, her alternatives were to break into Malfoy Manor, which she knew little about and would bring up painful memories, or locate the Locket, which she was almost positive wasn't in the cave yet. Both were unfamiliar and daunting tasks. She and Aberforth had already retrieved the Ring with minimal effort. The Cup was what she was most comfortable getting at this point. It was a little ridiculous to prefer breaking into the most heavily-guarded place in the Wizarding world, but it was familiar. She'd done it before, and the security had been exceedingly hyped then. Unfortunately, her knowledge of its security was barely adequate for such a delicate mission. She'd tried searching in Keane's shop, but Goblins weren't much for writing books and wizards knew only of the alarms they triggered. Part of what made Gringott's so secure was the utter secrecy surrounding said security. This was for the express purpose of dissuading anyone from doing what Hermione and Aberforth were about to do.

"But you won't." Aberforth didn't know much about her. He hadn't joined her in her research. Still, Hermione was grateful that he'd come to know her well enough to predict her movements, and above all to trust her judgment. He knew they were going in nearly blind, and he'd never once asked her to guarantee he would come out again.

"No." She turned away, running her thumb over the Portkey. It was set to activate to a password, or, failing that, holding her breath for over sixty seconds. She didn't expect to be unable to speak or move, but it was best to be prepared. Aberforth had one of his own. She'd gone over the activation requirements so often that he'd gotten irritated with her, but she wanted him to get out even if she could not.

He said nothing, only handed her a band to put on her wrist. The band was designed to make remembering her features difficult, but not so much that it would arouse suspicion. Aberforth would not have one, as their names would have been recorded immediately upon entering the building anyway. The name of Dumbledore would be recognized anywhere, and he would be the one studied. His presence while Hermione visited her vault was easily explained away: he was her employer. It wasn't uncommon to accompany an employee to a vault to check that the money was exactly where it should be.

They exchanged a look before Hermione slipped her small hand into the crease of his arm. With a loud crack, they were relocated to the Leaky Cauldron. They went through, avoiding the glances of the patrons and Tom, the bartender. It was a simple matter to get into Diagon Alley, and Hermione felt the sudden noise would burst her eardrums. She kept her head down, trying her utmost to focus on the mission and only the mission. It wouldn't do to think about all the deaths she'd seen here, caused here. It wouldn't do to note the many differences between this Diagon Alley and hers from the future.

Her hand was still hooked around Aberforth's arm, and he patted it awkwardly. It did make her feel a bit better, and she nodded at his unspoken question: "Are you composed enough for this?"

Together they walked into Gringott's. "I'd like to visit my account, if you please," Hermione told the goblin teller, knowing that he'd already seen their names and knew exactly who they were. She fought hard to keep her voice confident.

"Key," he said, looking down at her from the high counter and the even higher stack of paperwork.

"Of course," she said, reaching into her pocket to grab it. "Here, sir."

He took it from her, checking it for counterfeiting. Hermione could see that being polite had marginally softened the goblin. Indignation rose up in her at the obvious lack of courtesy goblins were used to, but she squashed it down. Now was neither the time nor place. "Kragnus," the goblin said, and another goblin appeared beside him. "Take them to Vault 148," he ordered, handing over the key. Kragnus bowed and beckoned Hermione and Aberforth to follow him.

They all climbed into the cart. Hermione felt her stomach turn at the rocking movement as if gravity had ceased to exist within her belly. They were traveling at breakneck speeds to their destination. She tapped Aberforth's arm twice with one finger, and he raised his arm and cast an _Imperio_ at Kragnus. She had been worried that they would lose control of the vehicle at that point, but she was relieved to find that the goblin could still operate it as normal.

"Take us to the Lestrange Vault," Aberforth suggested smoothly, and Kragnus abruptly changed their course.

Hermione cradled her head between her knees, fighting the nausea. She was glad that she didn't have to worry about anything until they came to the vault, since all of her concentration was focused on keeping herself from vomiting out the side of the cart. Who would clean it up? Would it just fester for a thousand years to become yet another unidentifiable stain? The thought cheered her and almost made her smile.

Several minutes later, Hermione heard the breaks screeching against the rails as the cart came to a stop. She was thrown forward against the goblin's back, knocking him nearly over the front of the cart. Aberforth grabbed the back of his tiny suit before he could fall out. The Imperius would keep Kragnus's instincts from reacting promptly enough to keep him from tumbling to his death. Everyone righted themselves before stepping out onto a platform next to a high-security vault.

"Why doesn't that happen all the time?" Hermione wondered aloud, referring to the overly-abrupt stop. "It's obviously a hazard. Surely they have safeguards to keep that from happening?"

Aberforth glared at her from beneath bushy grey eyebrows.

Oh. Right. The Imperius had affected Kragnus's ability to operate the cart effectively. Inhibited motor function wasn't something she'd anticipated, and it seemed painfully obvious in hindsight.

As for the vault, Hermione had no idea what the extent of the security was. She hadn't forgotten the blind guard dragon, and hoped they wouldn't have to escape on him again. "Don't touch anything," she warned while Kragnus opened the door.

"Why not?" Aberforth surveyed the room. It was full of artifacts, heirlooms, and an excessive amount of Galleons.

"There's a protective spell on everything in here," Hermione explained. "If you touch anything with your bare skin, it will burn you and multiply. It's a measure against theft." From her pocket she drew a metal rod with a hook on the end, which she then extended and used to latch onto the handle of the Cup. It was placed carefully into an enchanted pouch before they left the vault.

"Take us to Vault 148," Aberforth said, and they all got back into the cart. Hermione was less than happy about that. After another sickening ride, they were outside Hermione's actual vault. " _Obliviate_ ," Aberforth said, ending the Imperius on Kragnus.

Kragnus immediately took out the key and turned it in the lock, not appearing to realize that anything was amiss. Hermione watched as the door opened, feeling giddy. Adrenaline roared through her and she knew her hands were shaking. She stepped inside and collected a few Galleons, nearly fumbling them a few times, before stepping out again. "Thank you, sir," she said, smiling at the goblin.

He nodded impatiently before leading them all back into the cart. Once they were back in the lobby, Hermione and Aberforth spoke at the same time. "Angel dust," they said, and the Portkeys activated, bringing them back to Aberforth's room in the Hog's Head.

"We did it," Hermione whispered unnecessarily. Aberforth was clearly thinking the same thing, a rare grin on his face. All of his wrinkles deepened, and Hermione found that he looked more like Albus than she'd thought.

Hermione giggled, and hysteria soon brought her to her knees, laughing loudly and somewhat insanely. They'd done it! They'd really, really done it! There was no need to escape on a dragon, and as far as she knew the goblins had no idea anything was missing. This was real, tangible progress in her mission and Hermione felt more accomplished than she had in a very long time.


	9. Year I- Impotency Indefinite

**_ Chapter Nine- _ ** **_Year I-_ ** _Impotency_ _Indefinite_

"Repeat that, Bella." The Dark Lord's voice was deceptively calm, and Regulus eyed his wand hand warily. One long, bony finger fingered the thin wand, as if longing to use it. If Regulus wasn't mistaken, his Lord would use it plenty that night.

The Dark Lord had invited both the initiated and those who were to be Marked. Included in those numbers was Regulus, as was Snape and a few other students around his age. Such a meeting was highly irregular, as Regulus understood it, and this was clearly a Very Big Deal.

His cousin did not cower, as perhaps anyone else would have done. "My Lord," she began again in a hoarse whisper. "Your gift is gone from my husband's vault. The Cup. The goblins are narrowing the robbery down to the hour, my Lord," she hurried to add as the Dark Lord's hand rose.

Regulus knew that wouldn't be enough. It was never enough, not with _him_. " _Crucio_ ," the Dark Lord said.

Bellatrix fell to her knees, her body twitching but her forehead still pressed to the ground. "Forgive me, my Lord," she cried, her voice surprisingly strong and fervent for one under such torture. "I have failed you!"

"That you have, Bella," he said, ending the curse after several minutes. Those minutes were spent in absolute silence as the men and women in masks stared at Bella's prone form. Tremors went visibly through her body even after the agony was over, but she managed to reach her feet. Regulus knew why, even though he didn't doubt Bellatrix would have loved to lay on the ground until the end of the world. The Dark Lord hated weakness in his followers. Staying on the floor would have been weakness, and she would have been punished for it. Anyone else would be punished for far less, but Bella happened to be a favorite of the Dark Lord's.

She bowed her head, that fanatic gleam in her eyes never wavering. Regulus felt a shudder run through him at the sight. It was insanity, pure insanity, but he would never say that aloud. To love such a man as wholeheartedly as she did, even after he put her through the worst thing a wizard could do to another, was just crazy. The horrifying thing, however, was that Bella wasn't the only one, she was just the most powerful. Most of them shared her devotion in almost equal measure.

Most of them, except Regulus. He often felt like a traitor, despite doing nothing wrong. They would surely punish him for hating being there, and hating the things he was forced to do- and that while he was just an initiate, yet to be Marked. It would only get worse.

The Dark Lord sighed, running one hand through raven hair. The gesture was boyish, and shockingly human. That, more than anything, outlined the _wrongness_ of the whole situation. He looked to be hardly older than them, and appeared human but for his violently red eyes. He couldn't be human. Not anymore, not possibly. A human couldn't cause such pain in so many people, and for so long, without feeling anything. While being _bored_.

"I imagine this will be in the _Daily Prophet_ ," the Dark Lord said, twisting his wand in his hands again. This time, it wasn't threatening. Regulus kept his eyes on it all the same.

No one answered. No one wanted to draw attention to themselves, not after what they'd just seen.

"Yes, of course it will be," he continued, as if someone had responded. "I am curious to see what they will write. Nothing we won't know, I'm sure." He had begun pacing, and it occurred to Regulus that he might be more agitated than he was letting on.

There was a knock at the door, and the assorted company started.

"Come in," the Dark Lord commanded, his voice dark and carrying.

The door creaked open, though Regulus hadn't noticed any noise from the hinges before. "Milord," a goblin began before it was halfway into the room. "I am Lugnott, and I was sent to give information on the theft from the Lestrange vault. It wasn't speaking to Bellatrix or Rodolphus, but the Dark Lord himself. It was probably briefed on the situation beforehand.

Regulus shuddered. He'd met more goblins in his short life than he'd cared to, and they always knew too much for their own good. This one had the same shifty, intelligent gleam in those beady black eyes. He almost smirked. No amount of craftiness would save the goblin if the Dark Lord decided he didn't like the news.

The Dark Lord didn't speak, only narrowed his eyes and gestured for the goblin to speak.

It seemed happy to oblige. "We at Gringott's have narrowed the theft down to the exact hour it was committed. We have compiled a list of all the witches and wizards in the vaults at the time, and we are currently in the process of examining the memories of the goblins escorting the suspects. Would you like to see the list, Milord?" It finished its smug little spiel and bowed over a piece of parchment extended in his hand.

Regulus wasn't surprised when his Lord took the list, severed hand and all.

He watched the Dark Lord read the list while the goblin screamed. After a few moments of scanning his eyes flashed and he murmured, "Dumbledore."

"Milord?" Bella queried.

"Not the old fool. His brother, Aberforth. He runs a pub in Hogsmeade, I do believe. It's a horrid place, they never clean anything there, but it's where the... unsavory folk go." The Dark Lord spoke with a slight wondering lilt, as if he were thinking aloud. "This is perhaps more serious than I had thought." He passed the list to Bella, whose eyes searched for and found Dumbledore's name.

"Milord, there was a girl with him. Hermione Granger," she pointed out. Regulus blinked in surprise. It appeared there was more to the girl than just his brother's fascination with her. "I don't recognize the name. She's likely a Mudblood." She hissed the epithet with more than the usual vehement contempt, perhaps because it irked her that a _Mudblood_ could help break into her vault undetected. It was something that even a Pureblood had never done, so the idea that a Mudblood had succeeded first must be unacceptable to her.

A moment passed, and it was silent but for the whimpers of the goblin, who was cradling its hand to its chest with its back against the wall. The Dark Lord no longer appeared angry in the slightest, more contemplative. Somehow, that was much more frightening. "I can't say I recognize the name either, Bella. Does anyone else?" he asked. It was clear enough that his Lord had no interest in any of the other names, and was already convinced that Dumbledore and Granger were the culprits.

Regulus was torn, though his expression betrayed none of his unease. Of course he recognized her. He'd written a letter to his mother, after all. It wouldn't be hard for the Dark Lord to find out that he did know her, and Regulus wasn't sure he would survive that. If he admitted now, though, Granger wouldn't survive. The decision wasn't hard to make, though he did feel guilt wash over him. "I do, my Lord," he said, seeing Snape and the other students nod off to the side. Several appeared angry that Regulus had spoken up first, and would thus be rewarded.

"Oh?" said the Dark Lord.

"Yes. She's a transfer student at Hogwarts, just came this year." Regulus forced the guilt back and took a deep breath. What was done was done, and if he hadn't then someone else would have. At least this way he would get some benefit.

*|II8II|*

Regulus had come in only a minute or two late to breakfast. It was nearing the end of the school year, and he'd spent far too long the night before studying for his O.W.L.s. after coming back from the meeting. It was much harder than usual to get out of bed and force himself down to the Great Hall. When he did arrive, Snape caught his eye for a brief moment and glanced down at the newspaper in his hands. The room seemed to be buzzing with excited chatter. Regulus took the hint and sat beside him, peering at the front page of the Daily Prophet.

_First Ever Break-In at Gringott's High Security Vault_

_Yesterday evening, after business hours at the only wizarding bank in the UK, a routine check discovered a single item missing from the Lestrange vault. The goblins have revealed that the missing item is the Hufflepuff Cup, a highly valuable artifact from one of the four esteemed founders of Hogwarts. The thief is as yet unknown, but an investigation is currently being launched. This historic event is unique because not only was the thief not caught, but the robbery went entirely unnoticed until they left the premises. It's not uncommon for a person to attempt to steal from Gringott's, but never have these people escaped the vast mazes beneath the bank. A thief's fate is usually to starve to death in a vault._

There was more, but Regulus didn't bother reading it. He already knew, and he'd personally doomed one of those thieves. Starving to death would likely be a kinder fate than what was in store for her.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, then, and Regulus raised his head. He hadn't expected to see Hermione Granger, stuffing a book into the bag at her side and looking for all the world as if her presence was nothing unusual. She had been conspicuously absent from all meals in the Great Hall for weeks. He and Snape raised their eyebrows at one another, acknowledging their mutual interest. A peek at the other Slytherins showed that they weren't the only ones who were intrigued.

If she felt the eyes of the House of Snakes on her back, she didn't show it. Instead, she swung her legs over the bench at the far end of the Gryffindor table and completely ignored the inhabitants.

Regulus glanced between her and his brother's friends. Sirius looked about ready to leap the distance separating them. He could see his muscles twitch even from across the room. Regulus spared a moment for contempt. How could he be so _obvious_? He would never understand the minds of Gryffindors.

Snape, however, was looking at Evans. Honestly, it was as if he lost all his vast reserves of subtlety whenever she was in the room. Regulus followed his gaze. Evans didn't even make a pretense of eating, instead gawking at Granger with a worried, forlorn expression. From her reaction, it couldn't have been more clear that something had happened between them.

Granger finished what little food she'd chosen and left the Great Hall. Curious eyes followed her, but she didn't acknowledge or even seem to notice the presence of anyone else.

Regulus didn't know how she'd managed to capture Sirius's attention in such a short amount of time. He didn't know why she'd to all appearances cut him off. No one had ever done that, and Sirius didn't know how to deal with it. Entertaining as it was to watch him, Regulus couldn't help but worry. They were dealing with a girl who'd broken into the most secure place in the world and stolen an ancient artifact, incurring the wrath of the Dark Lord. Beyond that, no one knew why she'd come to Hogwarts six years late. Regulus hadn't ever heard of that happening before. Everyone had a theory, and none of them were innocent. Exactly what sort of person was Hermione Granger? Would he want to allow his brother to be exposed to the dangers of associating with her?

Granger would crack. That's always the way it happened; only their mother could deny Sirius for long. She would crack because she still cared and was deeply conflicted by whatever decision she'd made. Their conversation days before proved it. When she did allow Sirius back into her life, it would put him at risk. Still, Regulus could do nothing but watch them burn.

*|II8II|*

Hermione tapped her finger against the milky surface of a coaster. Since when did they have _coasters?_ She'd really missed a lot while wallowing in self pity.

It was almost three in the morning, and customers were beginning to make their ways home. Many had brooms, but even more chose to Disapparate. Hermione couldn't help but worry about them. Riding a broom with one's motor functions impaired was enough of a danger, but Disapparation was far worse. Many would find themselves Splinched.

Perhaps a Floo system should be set up, she thought. No, that might not work, since accurate deposition depended on clear articulation. Drunk witches and wizards likely wouldn't be capable of that.

"Aberforth?"

"Hm."

"Shouldn't there be some sort of system to help people get home safe? I mean, in the Muggle world there are taxis and things. Volunteer services. Designated drivers, on a group-to-group basis. Is there anything like that in place?"

The gruff old man shook his head. "No, not really. Have something in mind?"

"I might. Give me a while to think about it." It was late enough that any ideas she came up with would be useless. She yawned, bringing one hand up to curve around her mouth. "I should probably be getting back to the castle." She'd told him about the passage she had found so he wouldn't worry. As it was, he showed no indication of feeling that particular emotion.

"Don't forget your phoenix when you leave." Aberforth turned away, having clearly lost interest in the conversation.

It took a few minutes, especially with her sluggish movements, she'd soon finished cleaning. Echo was snoozing on a shelf under the counter, not stirring even when Hermione scooped her up.

It was cold outside. The darkness swallowed the familiar storefronts and made it seem as if everything were curving in toward her. The only light came from the moon, and that faint illumination only made the shadows deeper. Hermione shivered and plodded down the well-worn path to Zonko's. She would have been able to make it back to the castle blind, she reckoned. A chilly wind whipped her cloak behind her, and even after it died down it seemed to seep through her thick sweater to her bones. Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around the sleeping phoenix, clutching the warmth closer. Perhaps it was all in her head, but something seemed off about this night.

A flurry of movement behind her drove any thought of sleep from her head. She jerked around in a panic, taking several leaping steps to hide in the doorway of a nearby shop. There were four black-clad figures just outside of the Hog's Head. Hermione could just make out a pale hand rising to open the door.

Aberforth. They were there for Aberforth, she knew it. The thought was confirmed by a glimpse of the white masks covering the faces of each of the figures.

Her hand went to her wand, but then stopped. She couldn't do anything. Rushing in would do nothing but get her captured too, if not killed. Her magic was gone, and with it her ability to defend even herself, much less other people. All she could do was trust that Aberforth could take care of himself.

No, she could get help. She could get Albus. And so she gathered the loose material of her robes and cloak around herself and bolted.

*|II8II|*

Colors swam across the lightening sky, painting sunny swaths across the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione watched but did not really appreciate or even notice it. She had been awake for hours, waiting for some sort of message from Albus or even Aberforth himself that would indicate that he was safe.

It had been a long time since she'd seen Death Eaters, and she was more shaken by it than she would admit. There was no reason for her to be a target in this time, and yet the mere sight of them had left her in a panic. _How pathetic_ , she thought. She could do nothing to help Aberforth. If they had been about to torture him, or even kill him, there was nothing she could have done. Maybe that was just an excuse to be able to flee. Perhaps she really was a coward at heart. Would she have really faced them, if it had been in her power? Would she have made her escape anyway?

As it was, Albus should have been able to help his brother far more than she could. All should have gone well, but _how could she be sure_ _?_ Just one Patronus! Just one Patronus, and she wouldn't have to sit awake worrying.

A rustling on the stairs startled her. "Hermione? What are...?" Remus's sleep-roughened voice was a welcome sound, for all that Hermione couldn't let him know that. Still, she couldn't quite bring herself to cut him off and leave. The voice of a friend was exactly what she needed at that moment.

She would not look at him, but she heard him descend the stairs and come to stand in front of her. She'd forgotten what an early riser he was.

"I don't know what you're doing, or why you haven't been around for weeks, or why you decided to start ignoring us, but Sirius misses you. You owe him an explanation, at least."

Of course. It was silly of her not to immediately expect conflict. This whole friendship thing started to look petty when compared with her current dilemma, however, and that gave her the strength not to just get up and leave. Hermione looked up and prepared to say something righteously indignant, but when she opened her mouth what came out was, "I know." And she did. She really did owe Sirius, and Lily, a good reason. An apology. Something. Her conscience would not allow her to ignore that even if she was doing the right thing, she was wronging them.

Remus's mouth set in a thin line, a recent scar on his cheek popping out in sharp relief. "So why won't you give him one?"

She was doing wrong by Remus, too. She had blurted out that she knew his darkest secret and then just faded out. It was a wonder they were attempting to give her space, because it must be making him horribly anxious to know that she could tell someone at any moment and they would be unable to stop her. It didn't matter that she never would; how would he know? She was making a concerted effort to be as unfriendly as she could. It wasn't just Sirius who deserved an explanation. They all did.

"I just can't. I'm sorry. All that I can say right now is that it's really better that I'm not close to anyone. It's not safe." Oh, good, an answer that was sure to pique their interest rather than dispel it. Excellent job! Hermione shut her mouth, certain that anything else she could say would only make it worse.

"What do you mean, 'not safe'?" Remus sat on the floor in front of her, and she was glad. It was really straining her neck to look up so far. "Does it have anything to do with where you were before you came here?"

He was handing her a solution, a way out. Without hesitation, she seized on the lie. "Yes. I'm here at Hogwarts not so much for an education as for the protection that Headmaster Dumbledore can give me. There are still some people looking for me, and there are things I need to do outside of Hogwarts. It was a mistake to get close to anyone here in the first place, because it puts you all at risk. I've already had to cut off all contact with my parents. Before you argue, or rather, before Sirius argues, I have your best interests in mind. Especially you, Remus. None of you can afford having people digging into your personal lives."

Remus listened in silence, and continued to think after she stopped talking. "That sounds... reasonable, in a twisted sort of way. It makes sense now that you wouldn't just explain, because Sirius would never accept that. He'd probably want to get even more involved."

Hermione rubbed her hands over her eyes, her lips turning up in exhausted relief. "So you won't tell him, right?"

"...No. I won't." His face twisted into a grimace, probably at the prospect of withholding information and even lying to one of his best friends. Hermione had never been so grateful for another person's good sense. Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin!

"Thank you." She worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Would you tell him something to make him lose interest? You may use any story you deem necessary, it will not offend me. Please just use your best judgement."

"Of course."

Hermione didn't feel guilty for the lie, though she supposed she would have a few years ago. It was necessary, and possibly the kindest way to undo her blunder. This way, Sirius would leave her alone and hopefully stop caring about her. "I should go," she said, standing. Remus's awakening would be followed by others, and it would cause problems for her to be there when they came downstairs.

Her robes were rumpled from her restless night, and she smoothed them down as best as she could. Echo had gone out for food not long before, and Hermione was confident that the phoenix would be able to find her. A visit to the Headmaster was in order, although she wasn't sure whether it wouldn't be better to wait for him to contact her somehow.

"Hermione?"

She turned and looked back at the boy. He seemed uncharacteristically concerned. It reminded her of the Remus she used to know, the one who cared so deeply for all of those still alive, and she had to keep her voice from shaking. "Yes?"

"Be safe, all right? With whatever it is you're doing."

"Thanks, I will." Before she could look at his expression again she turned and left the Common Room.


	10. Year I- Synchronized Estrangement

_**Chapter 10-** _ _**Year I-** Synchronized Estrangement_

"He's safe. Come to my office." Albus's voice lacked its usual chipper quality, which was worrying. He sounded tired. His phoenix Patronus was no less weak than usual, but its feathers seemed to droop and it didn't appear quite as energetic as she was used to.

Had he been up all night? It seemed absurd to mother a man who'd celebrated his centennial, but Hermione couldn't help it. It was a good sign, perhaps, that he didn't feel like he needed to cover up weaknesses with her. She wasn't sure what to think.

The grounds outside were bright and green, as seen from Hermione's perch in a window alcove on the sixth floor. If she searched she would probably find Hagrid toiling away somewhere. Hermione got up and walked toward Albus's office. She passed the occasional student, generally Ravenclaws since she was near their tower. She made eye contact with a few, but none so much as waved. This wasn't unusual in the slightest, so Hermione wasn't upset by it. She had far more important things to worry about than her lack of popularity.

It hadn't been that long ago since she'd last visited the Headmaster in his office. Only a few days, she thought. The password hadn't yet been changed from "Peppermint Toad". She could feel the stone eyes of the gargoyle's on her back as she trudged up the spiral staircase. She knocked on the door and didn't wait for an answer before opening it.

"Albus, what happened?" Hermione asked before even shutting the door.

His face reflected his tone from earlier, wrinkles appearing where Hermione hadn't noticed any before and his lips set so thin they looked like a wound. His nose seemed especially crooked. "Sit," he said, gesturing tiredly to the chair facing his desk. Hermione obeyed without question. It was several moments before Albus opened his mouth to speak again. "You were indeed correct. Voldemort's Death Eaters sought to capture or kill my brother. He did not, however, need my help, and he was very cross at me for interfering."

"Oh," said Hermione in a small voice. She was well aware that Aberforth and Albus didn't get along at all. "You fought. Is everything... Is everything all right?"

"We have been through far worse before." Albus folded his hands. His half-moon glasses clung to the very tip of his nose. "I would not be surprised to find that his ire does not limit itself to me."

Aberforth was angry with her. Of course, that was the risk she'd taken in getting Albus involved, but surely he understood that she was only worried for him? She needed to talk to him, get this mess sorted out. "I understand. Is he violent?" Hermione hoped not. She'd seen him angry before, but that was after years of war. Had he always been volatile?

"No, I don't believe he is, but perhaps he simply no longer has the strength to attempt to break my nose again."

"Is that all? You should get some rest." Hermione leaned forward and touched the old man's hand, trying to convey her sympathy through the contact.

Albus seemed to appreciate it, as the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Good advice, and advice I will follow. I suggest you attend today's classes and go see Aberforth after supper."

"Goodbye, Albus," Hermione murmured, standing up to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing," Albus said abruptly. "Aberforth isn't the only friend you should reconcile with." She didn't have to look at him to know that he was smiling in that infuriatingly benign way.

The arsehole had been waiting to impart those bloody golden "words of wisdom". Without turning back, Hermione said, "I have it under control. Goodbye, Albus."

*|II8II|*

"The Dark Lord is making plans," said Mulciber conversationally through a mouthful of potatoes. His fork clinked against his plate, making Regulus wince. His manners were _abhorrent._

Snape laughed, a sound which resembled a bark and lacked any mirth. "Tell me something new. When isn't he making plans?"

Mulciber scowled around his food. He swallowed, thankfully, before replying, "No, I mean real plans. Plans that affect us."

"How so?" Avery asked, leaning forward. His dirty blond hair fell over his face, so all Regulus could see was his twisted mouth and button nose. He didn't have to see the other boy's eyes to know that he was staring at Mulciber.

"I only know what my cousin told me," Mulciber said. He put another forkful of potatoes in his mouth and chewed, obviously trying to up the suspense. The boy had no idea how transparent he was. How pathetic.

"Get on with it," said Avery. "If you don't hurry up and tell us we'll have to deal with it as it happens."

"Well," Mulciber said, "you do remember that whole business with that Cup Granger stole from the Lestrange vault?"

"Of course we do, it was only a few weeks ago." Snape, as usual, didn't waste an opportunity to deride their obtuse classmate.

"Do you want me to tell you or not?" Mulciber snapped. Snape didn't reply, but Mulciber continued regardless. "That Cup was apparently important to the Dark Lord. He wants to find Granger and force her to give it back."

"It's more likely," Regulus spoke up, "that he wants to figure out how she took it. No one's ever stolen from Gringott's before, maybe he thinks she knows something new." It was just a Cup. If it were so important to him, why would he give it to Regulus's cousin? Everyone knew she was as unhinged as she was devoted, and her husband wasn't much better. Regulus wouldn't trust either one with so much as a self-watering potted plant.

Avery scooted even closer. "Maybe. So, sure, he wants to find the Mudblood. How does he plan on doing that? No one can come in or out of Hogwarts without the Headmaster knowing."

Snape shook his head. "Not exactly. It's just not safe."

"What?" Regulus blurted. This was new; what vital secret had Snape kept close to his chest?

"The Forbidden Forest. The wards don't encompass the whole thing, so if you walk far enough you could get out or come in," Snape said, as if it were obvious. To be fair, Regulus couldn't help but agree. How had it never occurred to Regulus before, in all the many afternoons spent daydreaming up ways to leave the castle? It made so much more sense for the Forest to be off-limits, too, if there was such a flaw in the wards.

Still, how could such a huge defect have been allowed to exist? In the thousands of years since Hogwarts was founded, why hadn't the wards been strengthened? "How hasn't that been remedied by now?" he asked.

Snape sighed. "There's no such thing as a perfect defense," he said. Quoting a textbook, probably, the prat. "In exchange for such strong wards, they had to leave a whole side open. That's not to say one can fly in, but if you're willing to travel at ground level through the Forbidden Forest, then you can conceivably come and go as you please. The Founders made the Forest so deadly by design. I don't believe anyone's ever successfully utilized the flaw, though."

"It is a bit daunting," said Avery, beginning to be distracted once again by his food.

"Just a bit," Regulus agreed snidely. Avery flashed him a grin. Was he only pretending to be stupid? That was a decidedly _Slytherin_ thing to do, but Regulus liked to think that the five years they'd known each other would inform him of any hidden intelligence. He would have to think about that.

"I wonder," said Mulciber, an uncharacteristically sly leer twisting his features, "how we can use this." Mulciber, on the other hand, was undoubtedly dull, a Slytherin lacking in cunning but making up for it with ambition. His cruelty, disloyalty, and utter cowardice disqualified him from any other House, so he shared space with the snakes. Exchanging glances with Snape, it was clear that the other boy shared his disdain.

"You have an astoundingly short memory," Snape deadpanned. Regulus snickered at Mulciber's thoroughly affronted expression, but he felt his stomach begin to clench.

"What are you talking about, Snape?" Mulciber hissed, trying to appear menacing. It only made Regulus laugh harder.

"The Dark Lord," Snape prompted, somehow keeping his face completely straight.

"We can lead Him to Granger!" Mulciber said, sitting up straight. "If anyone could get through the Forbidden Forest, it would be Him. We must tell Him!"

Unease swam in the pit of Regulus's stomach, making him nauseous, but he couldn't come up with a reason to discourage that plan of action. Of course he'd seen where this was going, but he'd thought that Snape wouldn't guide Mulciber to the logical conclusion. As far as Regulus knew, Snape had nothing against Granger, at least not enough to wish her death. Regulus wanted her out of the picture, but not like that. Just imagining what the Dark Lord would do to her was enough to make his insides contract. However, he wasn't nearly fanatic enough to feel safe in expressing opinions like that. Any dissent voiced now would be seen as a betrayal to their Lord.

He was saved from having to say anything by the arrival of the post owls, likely bearing responses to letters sent that morning. There were far fewer than there were at breakfast. A dingy-looking barn owl landed in front of Regulus. He eyed the bird in distaste and edged his hand forward cautiously to untie the letter from its leg. The moment the tie was undone the owl took off, the letter not quite detached. It fell onto Regulus's (fortunately empty) plate. Ignoring Avery's nasally guffaws, Regulus unfolded the letter.

_Black,_

_I have a favor to ask of you. Yes, I know you don't owe me anything. This isn't for my sake, it's for Sirius's._

_Hermione Granger asked me to tell Sirius a lie about why she's avoiding us. The easiest way to do that, I think, is to make him think that she prefers the company of Slytherins. His prejudice is so strong that I'm positive that will work. All I'm asking from you- and anyone else you may choose to bring into this- is that if Sirius asks, tell him that Hermione spent hours of time in the Slytherin Common Room. She's given permission to add any details, even if they paint her in a bad light._

_I hope you'll consider it. I don't have permission to tell you why it's necessary, but please believe me that this is important._

_Regards,_

_Remus Lupin_

This was a ready-made solution, fallen into his lap without even the slightest effort on his part. If what Lupin claimed was true, then Granger had signed a blank check to him. He had her bloody _blessing_ to ruin her reputation so thoroughly that even Sirius would turn away in disgust.

Perhaps Lupin was lying. That was always a possibility; however, being a Gryffindor, Lupin was far more likely telling the truth. Still, Regulus resolved to send his own letter to Granger, confirming Lupin's words. He wouldn't want to meet the business end of her wand. Regulus wasn't the type to underestimate his opponent, and he knew too much about Granger's accomplishments to doubt for a second that if she wanted him dead that would be what happened. He could hope that her Gryffindor righteousness would prevent that if it really came down to it, but he preferred not to take the risk.

Regulus looked up to see all three of his companions observing him, clearly wondering about the letter. They knew by now what his mother's owl looked like, and Hogwarts owls were distinctive in their pathetic appearances. Should he show them? Permission to do so was explicitly included in the letter. He had little time to send a letter to Granger right then, and it would be more difficult to bring up should he wait. He trusted them- or rather, he trusted Snape- not to go barreling into this without first making a plan. Snape would certainly agree to help. He was willing to do anything that hurt Sirius.

"Snape," Regulus said, handing over the letter. Snape stretched out his deathly pale hand and took it, reading through it once quickly, and then again with more patience.

"Is it a setup?" Snape asked, still examining the bit of parchment.

Regulus shrugged. "It's possible. I plan to send her a letter."

Snape tapped the tabletop with his index finger, a slow smile spreading on his face. "I'm in," he declared, glancing over at the Gryffindor table. When Regulus followed his gaze, he saw Sirius making a general fool of himself with Potter. Snape couldn't stand to see them happy, that much was obvious.

"We'll come up with a plan later," Regulus suggested. He didn't have to indicate Mulciber and Avery for Snape to understand.

"Send the letter, then we'll talk." Still grinning in that manic way Regulus was familiar with, Snape got up and left the Great Hall. Regulus chuckled, amused as always by his dramatics.

"What was that about?" Mulciber asked, watching in disappointment as Regulus set the parchment on fire.

"You'll see," said Regulus, and spoke not another word for the rest of the meal.

*|II8II|*

Peaceful afternoons in the sixth year boys' dormitories were uncommon, to say the least, but this one seemed all set to break the trend. Sirius sulked up at the curtains of his four-poster. James was ignoring him because Sirius had switched the clothes in his drawer for Lily's and put James's clothes in Lily's room. His sense of humor when it came to Lily had completely left him, Sirius lamented. It wasn't even that serious of a prank!

Seeking entertainment, Sirius flopped out of bed and into Remus's, pretending to read Remus's book but really trying to block the other boy's view of it. Remus was wise to his tricks, and turned so that Sirius's head couldn't get between him and his book.

"Moony," Sirius whined, drawing out the vowels as long as he could with a single breath. "I'm bored." Peace? Quiet? Unacceptable! Something would have to be done, and it was up to Sirius to save the day. Not that he really had any ideas, but he was positive Remus would provide at least a momentary diversion.

Remus closed his book and sat up, looking right at Sirius, who drew back in confusion. "I know something you'll be interested in," he said.

"Get on with it, then!" Sirius cried, bouncing on the bed just to hear the mattress creak. Something in Remus's face told him that maybe he didn't really want to hear what Remus knew. Still, Sirius had never been one to ignore impulses and this one said that he just _had_ to know. It was probably something sarcastic, knowing Remus. Sirius relaxed at the thought and felt his enthusiasm return in full.

"You sure?" Remus asked before shaking his head. "Never mind. Of course you are. Do you want blunt or sugar-coated? Never mind." He took a deep breath and said, very slowly, "All those times we couldn't find Granger on the Map, she was in the Slytherin Common Room. She separated herself from us because they poisoned her against other Gryffindors."

Sirius was silent for once in his life. Out of all his hypotheses, all of his theories, this had never even crossed his mind. "Who?" he breathed. A peculiar feeling was developing in his gut, like he was rotting from the inside out.

Somehow Remus understood his vague question. "Snape. And your brother. Mulciber and Avery... probably more, but those are all I know of."

"Snape? _Snape?_ She chose _Snivellus_ over us?" Rage boiled inside him, mixing with the festering of rejection in a way that was entirely unpleasant. And Regulus? She chose his little brother over him? That stung. "She's a Muggleborn, though. Why- why would they ever accept her?"

Remus looked down at his lap, refusing to look Sirius in the eye. Sirius's heart seemed to be shrinking. "I think you know why, Sirius."

He wanted to cry. Or scream. Or go find her and hex her until she told him _everything_. Remembering his fixation on her, Sirius felt such shame and pain and disgust that he had no doubt he could cast the Cruciatus on her. Or Snivellus. "How do you know?" Sirius asked, struggling to keep his voice even. He wouldn't waste any more _feelings_ on the... the _harlot._

Looking entirely unaffected, Remus said, "I saw her with the Slytherins on the Map a couple of weeks ago. I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure. I confronted her about it this morning, and she admitted to it."

"Oh," Sirius said. "Thanks, Moony." He dragged himself onto his own bed and shut the curtains. Feeling tears beginning to prick at his eyes and clog his throat, Sirius flicked his wand and put up a Silencing charm. Satisfied that his best mates wouldn't know how upset he was, he lowered himself onto his pillow and curled in on himself. His body was leaden and trembling.

In the safety of his four-poster, Sirius allowed his face to crumble and the tears to fall in earnest. How could she do that? How could she be so unfeeling, so callous? They'd all dropped everything to include her, hadn't they? Apparently that meant nothing to her. How could she have been Sorted into Gryffindor? She didn't even have the courage to tell them herself.

She chose Regulus. Not him, Regulus. Similar in looks, in upbringing, in blood, in intelligence, but he was a follower and a budding Dark wizard. That was telling, wasn't it? She'd chosen two of the Darkest wizards currently in Hogwarts to consort with, so how could she be anything but a Dark witch? Maybe she wanted to make up for her blood status, to choose those who would hate her for it. Why associate those who would accept her if there was a _challenge_ to be had? It made sense; he'd always seen ambition and competitiveness in her. Very Slytherin qualities to have, now that he thought about it.

What did it say about him, that he'd been so obsessed with her? Was he subconsciously attracted to women like that? Slytherins? It was positively Freudian, but faced with the evidence Sirius had to admit it, at least to himself. Hermione was a Slytherin dressed as a Gryffindor, and he'd been fooled by her masks. He wasn't sure who he hated more, her or himself.

His tears were long gone, but he lay there trembling until he finally fell asleep, missing dinner. He couldn't have cared less.

*|II8II|*

Remus contacted her a few days after Regulus did. She pieced together what exactly their story was, and despite herself was impressed. It was perfect, really, if she wanted Sirius to not only ignore her but also hate her. It would hurt him, she knew, but at the moment she had more important things to worry about.

For one thing, she had nowhere to sleep. The timing was all wrong. She was on bad terms with everyone who held even the smallest amount of affection for her. She couldn't sleep in her dormitory or the Common Room, obviously, and now she couldn't stay in the Hog's Head. She'd briefly entertained the idea of staying with the Slytherins, given the story Remus had fed Sirius, but without the protection of her magic she couldn't be sure she wouldn't be killed in her sleep. A Gryffindor in the Snake pit? Unthinkable.

She couldn't tell Albus, either, because she already knew that he disapproved of her absences from the castle. He disapproved of most of her decisions, if she were honest, and would be no help.

The Room of Requirement was an option, but she didn't trust herself to have free range of the Room in her sleep. When her rational mind was unable to intervene, she needed all sorts of things that ultimately would destroy herself or someone else. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of the Room as that she was afraid of herself.

In the end, she and Echo slept curled up on the cushioned window seats interspersed throughout the castle. She changed seats every night, not using the same alcove in the same week. Echo was an excellent source of heat, as always, though she couldn't protect Hermione from the chill originating inside her body. The phoenix responded to her companion's increasing despondency by growing more attached, apparently sensing Hermione's need for company.

Meals were touch and go. She wouldn't show her face in the Great Hall, both because she didn't want to see the way Sirius would look at her and because she wasn't sure she could give the impression necessary to give credence to her lie. Aberforth had ignored her entirely when she tried to go to the Hog's Head to apologize until she'd had enough and left. Sometimes, very late at night, Hermione would go to the Kitchens. If Sirius, James, or Peter saw her there it would invite far too many uncomfortable questions. Gradually the gnawing of hunger receded and Hermione was able to function without constantly thinking about it. She had already been used to eating infrequently, fortunately, which made the transition easier.

Technically, Hermione did attend her classes. She showed up early to turn in her homework and to ask about the work for that day. She met resistance at first, naturally, but she reasoned that she was unable to practice any spells regardless and she was already fulfilling the theoretical requirements.

The majority of her time was spent with Keane, researching until the effort of merely moving her eyes seemed too much. Keane always shooed her out after a few hours, explaining in that condescending way of his that the more time she spent there all at once the more tenuous her link to linear time became. Hermione agreed that that would be Bad. It wasn't that she would mind the passage of time stopping for her, although she did very much mind. It was more that she didn't want to become like Keane, bitter and distant.

Remembering her curiosity when Echo had first hatched, Hermione began teaching her to read again. She didn't know how to discern whether Echo actually understood, other than the intelligent gleam in her eyes and her timing in asking Hermione to turn the page. Often Hermione wished Echo could speak, but lately she was beginning to think that it wasn't necessary. They understood one another perfectly without the need for verbalization.

As stressful as her routine was, Hermione began to get used to it. She didn't think about Sirius all that much anymore. Sometimes she fancied herself more a ghost than a real person, and, oddly enough, it appealed to her.

It couldn't stay that way, she discovered.

Final exams had been over for two days. She didn't have to be around other people to know that they were all exhausted. No matter what Houses they were in, they alternated regularly between celebrating and sleeping. A mix of relief and fearful anticipation hovered in the air. The Hogwarts Express would be taking the students home early the next morning.

Hermione wasn't sure what time it was, but she was sure it was very late, given the pink and orange that began to spread across the sky. Now that the grounds were no longer pitch black, Hermione spotted movement on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. At first she dismissed it as a herd of centaurs coming unusually close to the castle. It was hard to see just what the figures looked like, but they seemed far too small to be centaurs. Some of them held balls of light in front of them, but they disappeared one by one. Without the glare of the light, Hermione could barely make them out if she squinted. Comprehension came slow, followed immediately by terror.

There was a massive army, all clad in black robes with white masks. The Death Eaters had invaded Hogwarts.


	11. Year I- Finite Impassivity

**_Chapter 11- Year I- _ ** _Finite Impassivity_

It was supposed to be a good day. Sirius would go home with James for the summer, this time with no obligation to return to his biological family. He would have to wake up early, which was annoying, but it was well worth getting back into the real world. James's mum would hug both of her sons, and James's dad would shake his hand and grin through his mustache. He would feel loved and this whole debacle of a year could be put behind him.

Remus was the one to shake him awake, which was expected. Sirius swatted his hand away and buried his face further into his comforter.

"Sirius, I'd absolutely love to play this game but _now is not the time._ " The urgency and pure fear in Remus's voice coaxed Sirius into sitting up, a feat rarely accomplished except through several minutes of semi-playful violence.

"What time is it?" Sirius asked, a part of him still clinging to sleep.

The werewolf turned away to wake up Peter and James. "Almost five. C'mon, _up._ " He pulled frantically at Peter's arm, to no avail. Peter was harder to wake up than even Sirius if he hadn't gotten a full eight hours of sleep, which he most assuredly had not. Everyone in Gryffindor House had spent the last night having a grand farewell party. Almost everyone, rather.

It took a moment for Remus's reply to register in his brain. "What do you mean _almost five?_ " Sirius yelped. "The castle had bloody well better be on fire or something. Almost five. What the _fuck_." He flopped back, the draw of his warm bed irresistible.

"Don't you dare go back to sleep," Remus snapped. And then, in an only marginally softer tone, "You're not far off. You-Know-Who's army is here."

Sirius sat up again. "You're taking the piss, right? _Right?_ " There were wards, weren't there? Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place on earth, safer than Gringott's, even!

Remus shook his head, finally pulling Peter out of his bed and onto the floor. Peter woke up with a start, and probably a sore tailbone as well. Ignoring Peter's indignant squawks, Remus moved to James' bed and shoved him out of his bed as well, learning from his previous mistake.

"Now that everyone's _awake_ ," Remus said, "we need to get everyone out of here. There are Death Eaters on our front lawn and we need to get everyone to the train as soon as possible." He did have a point. Sirius would hold off his interrogation until everyone else was safely on the Express.

"How do you even know this?" James asked, indicating the window. Sirius looked where he pointed and realized that the window faced the back of the castle. "Your senses aren't that strong."

Face flushing, Remus mumbled, "I got a Patronus. It doesn't matter; what matters is getting everyone out of here."

James and Peter hauled themselves off the floor, using the posts on their beds to steady themselves. James headed toward the door as quickly as he could while hungover. Remus and Sirius started to follow, but Peter hesitated.

"C'mon, Wormtail," James called. "You wanna live or what?"

"It's just... this isn't a prank, right? Who told you?" Peter's eyes were narrowed, and Sirius realized in that moment that he'd been the butt of too many of their jokes to trust them implicitly. Peter wouldn't move until he had proof.

Remus knew this too, and stepped forward to whisper in his ear. Sirius strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything. Odd, that Remus wouldn't want him or James to know. Whatever he said convinced Peter, though, and that was the most important thing.

James had gone on ahead, apparently, as the three boys discovered when a shrieking alarm pierced their eardrums. After a few moments of severe discomfort, the alarm stopped abruptly, punctuated by a heavy thud. As a unit, the boys rushed down the staircase to find James crumpled on the ground, sleeping peacefully. Sirius looked up and saw a sandy-haired seventh year girl, Bridget Gaffney, lowering her wand and glaring irritably at James's prone figure.

"What was that for?" Sirius asked eloquently, his expression slack and his eyes wide.

"It's four in the bloody morning," the Irish girl grumbled.

"Five, actually," Remus chipped in.

"Whatever. Either way, it's too fuckin' early to be woken up. Wanted to get in one last prank before summer, didja? Fine. Put your friend back to bed."

Remus coughed. "Er, yeah, about that. It wasn't a prank. There are Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds and we need to get everyone to the Express." It sounded lame in the apologetic tone he was using, and none of the assembled students looked convinced.

"Go look, if you don't believe us," Sirius snapped, trying to make up for his friend's meekness. "I don't care if you think it's a bloody prank; we still need to get the younger ones out of here. This isn't the time to be bickering, believe me. Just get everyone up."

Gaffney opened her mouth as if to protest, but another seventh year cut across her. "At worst, we get to the train a few hours early. S'no big deal." That seemed to convince the others, and they disappeared back up the stairs to help the younger ones.

"Could've gone worse," said Peter, eyeing James. "Does anyone know the counter?"

Sirius and Remus exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison. Remus swiped a hand over his mouth and said, "It looks like we'll have to levitate him. He's all packed. Peter, would you please retrieve our bags? We'll need two wands to get James all the way to the train."

Peter saluted Remus with a grin less than usually wide. "Aye-aye."

"When you're ready," said Sirius, pointing his wand at James. "Mobilicorpus." Remus followed suit, lessening the strain on Sirius's magic significantly.

As the Gryffindor Common Room was, unfortunately, in a tower, it took nearly half an hour to get to the ground floor. Filch and Professor Sprout were waiting to get the children through to safety. Professor Sprout was visibly fretting, even going so far as to chew on her already stubby nails. Filch was the opposite, terse and snappy. He did seem to be nervous in his own way, though.

The remainder of the journey took place in the invisibly-drawn carriages, allowing both Remus and Sirius to relax for a few short minutes. The Hogwarts Express was a welcome sight. The platform was flooded with students frantically boarding the train, getting settled in record time. There were children of all Houses, not just Gryffindor, Sirius noticed with no little relief.

Sirius helped Remus get James into the compartment that Peter had already claimed before turning tail and heading right back out onto the platform. Remus stuck his head out the window and hollered for Sirius's attention.

"I'm not leaving," Sirius announced firmly, wishing this conversation didn't have to happen. He could only hope that his conviction would triumph over Remus's logic.

"What do you mean you're not leaving?" Remus yelped, sticking his head further out the window, balancing his torso precariously on the ledge. "Sirius, you've never been in a real duel before, you don't know what you're doing-"

"Hogwarts is my home. I'm seventeen, old enough to fight. And really, you can't stop me, ye of little faith. Tell Prongs I said I'll see him, all right? And Peter?" Sirius smirked at his friend, brandishing his wand.

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but the train was beginning to leave and he had no choice but to bring his head back into the compartment proper. "Good luck, Padfoot. I'd better see you when this is all over, okay?"

"Okay," Sirius agreed readily. As much as he wanted to watch the Express until it disappeared, if he wanted to get a head start on the fighting then he'd better head back. The carriages were waiting, and he saw that he wasn't the only student determined to stay and defend their home. Not that there were many, but enough.

How many Death Eaters were attacking, anyway? He had no perspective of even the total number of soldiers in You-Know-Who's army, but surely he wouldn't have brought all of them to attack a school populated primarily by children.

He didn't have to wait long before the carriages deposited those returning practically on the castle's doorstep. A part of him did wonder if this was all a prank. If it was all a joke, it was in terrible taste.

Those thoughts were expelled from his mind at the first sight of the sky. The Dark Mark hung overhead, lit up by the brilliant colors of sunrise. The contrast made it worse.

Death Eaters really were invading, even though he hadn't seen any yet. Sirius followed his classmates inside.

"Where are they?" a Hufflepuff seventh year whispered.

The familiar, acrid stench of smoke greeted Sirius's enhanced sense of smell. He wrinkled his nose, turning on the spot to try to find out where it was coming from. "Upstairs, then," he suggested, already climbing the stairs.

Or, at least he would have, had the stairs not been completely ruined by an explosive spell. Whether intentional or not, Sirius didn't know. Someone had the bright idea to repair the stairs, but none of them trusted it to hold their weight.

There were other ways. Going upstairs wasn't necessary, they discovered. There was plenty of chaos just a corridor away.

Sirius sprinted straight into the crowd, dodging deflected curses and retaliating with his own. His face split into a grin. Merlin, he'd never felt so _alive!_

One Death Eater, a man as far as Sirius could tell, whirled to face him, sending a Petrificus Totalus at him with a marksman's accuracy. He was out of his depth, he finally realized, falling backwards. The Death Eater stalked toward him even before he hit the ground, wand raised and the Killing Curse doubtless on the edge of his tongue.

Several things happened at once. The nameless Death Eater was struck by one of his comrade's deflected spells, and he began screaming as his skin turned a bright red. Sirius braced himself to hit the stone floor, possibly even blacking out. A small body slid under him, breaking his fall, and then dragged him behind a nearby tapestry. He wanted to turn his head to look at his savior, but the Petrificus Totalus prevented any movement besides breathing.

"Boiled alive," a familiar voice remarked. "They'll be dead by now, or at least wishing they were." Hermione Granger forced his legs to bend so he could sit propped up against a wall. "I know you're angry with me, but now isn't the time. We must be quiet and wait for the spell to wear off so we can get out of here. Honestly, what were you thinking? You could have died. If it weren't for happenstance's intervention you would be."

Sirius could do nothing but stare at her. Rage and hurt and confusion swirled inside of him, feeling as though his insides were expanding and confined by his skin. There must be some sort of release, or he would explode.

He couldn't stand to even look at her, but his eyes would not move. In the darkness behind the tapestry her features twisted into something stony, cruel, sinister. A sneer, or a smirk, or a snarl. Something wilder and more loathsome than even Bellatrix. She was only setting him up for a trap so that she could kill him, he just knew it. That would explain why no one had come after them immediately; she was on the Death Eaters' side. Hell, she'd probably let them in! Who else would be that bitter? Hogwarts wasn't her home, and clearly she harbored no affection for any of its residents.

That _whore_.

She wouldn't even _look_ at him.

Hatred rose inside him, spraying a red mist before his eyes. His abhorrence for her exceeded that of his mother, Snivellus, his cousin, everyone. At least they were forthcoming about their evil. This girl was dishonestly Dark, hiding behind an innocent face and secretly grovelling before anyone with any power at all.

His fingertips began to tingle, a sure sign that the spell was wearing off. He waited in silence for a minute more, unwilling to call Granger's attention to his rapidly approaching freedom of movement. The tingle spread through his body and finally fizzled out on his scalp. _There_.

Sirius lunged forward and closed his hands around her throat, smashing her head into the stone wall behind her. He ignored her yelp of surprise and the scrabbling of her fingernails against his wrists, focusing instead with glee on her bugged-out eyes and the changing hue of her skin. It took only several seconds for her eyes to shut and her resistance to cease. She wasn't dead yet, though, just unconscious. He would have to stay there for another few minutes before she would die.

Was that what he was? A murderer? Sure, she was poison in the air he breathed, but he didn't have to kill her. That was how the rest of his family solved their problems, not him. He wasn't like them. He wasn't.

He let go, hands trembling.

It took a much shorter time than Sirius had anticipated for her to regain consciousness. Her breaths came loud and fast and frantic. He looked on in disgust, picking up his wand and pointing it at her slumped form. "You're going to get us both out of here," he commanded.

"How-" her voice came out a raspy whisper, and she had to stop to cough. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Not my problem," he said, twitching his wand to remind her that _he_ was the one with the control here. "You're chummy with the freaks out there, right? They'll let you through."

"What?" Granger rubbed her throat, wincing.

Sirius rolled his eyes, even knowing she couldn't see it in the dark. "Don't lie to me, Granger. I know what you are."

Just a beat too slow, she said, "Just because I prefer the company of Slytherins doesn't mean I run with Death Eaters, you prat!"

Like he was going to believe that. Right. "Not. My. Problem," he hissed again, leaning forward and jabbing his wand into the groove between her collarbones. "Move."

"Cast a notice-me-not," she shot back.

He'd never tried it, if he were honest, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "No. Let's go."

She had to use the wall to help her climb back to her feet, and all the while Sirius watched in wary disgust. Taking a shuddering breath, Granger pushed the tapestry aside and marched straight out. "Now we run," she suggested over her shoulder, not following her own advice.

"I'm right behind you," he said. Those words would have been comforting in any other context, but in this one he intended it to be a threat. "Go."

Granger walked, probably as fast as she was able to at that moment. They both hugged the wall. It took no time at all for spells from all directions to be aimed straight at them.

In hindsight, she was a Muggleborn. The Death Eaters probably didn't care a whit about her. "We can run now," he said, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging them both forward.

"Go to the- seventh floor," she gasped, barely able to move fast enough to avoid losing her footing. It seemed as good of a suggestion as any.

They'd gotten to the fifth floor before being accosted. Sirius glanced over at Granger, noting the eyes wide and wild with terror. Maybe she had been telling the truth about not being mates with the Death Eaters. Maybe. It could also be a ruse, since she was so good at those. He faced the pair in front of them. He didn't have to see their faces to know who they were: his beloved cousins, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Hey, Bella," he said, projecting every ounce of bravado he was capable of. "Hey, Rudolph. How's your overlord doing? Heading for Dumbledore? You know he doesn't have a chance against the Headmaster, right?"

Instead of getting riled up like he'd thought, they stayed silent, raising their wands in a synchronized motion. "Avada Kedavra," they chanted in unison.

The spells didn't hit. Sirius wouldn't have been quite fast enough to dodge, but Granger shoved him aside with what he could only assume was all her strength. Both curses went around her slight frame, singing holes in her robes but otherwise leaving her unharmed. She drew her wand and stood there casually, face blank. "Hermione Granger, nice to meet you," she announced, smiling politely.

Sirius was well aware of what she was trying to do, but he would be damned before he ran away from a fight. She fairly swam in her robes, and in the light he could make out the gauntness of her features, the bruises that he'd left on her neck. Leaving her to a certain death would be just as bad as killing her himself.

Or so he told himself. He still hesitated.

The couple appeared to forget about him entirely once Granger introduced herself, giving him enough time to slip around the corner unnoticed.

Bellatrix cackled, an eerie sound when he couldn't see her mouth moving behind the mask. "The Dark Lord wants you alive, and here you are. Stupid Mudblood. Don't you know that nobility is for the weak?" She flicked her wand, and this time her aim was true. Granger didn't even try to avoid it, and didn't struggle as the thick robes bound her limbs together.

"Maybe," Granger said, calmly looking down at her predicament. "What, you're not going to 'play with your food' first? Maybe you've not reached your full potential."

Again Bellatrix and her husband appeared to communicate without words. "Crucio!" Bella shrieked it, whereas Rodolphus merely drawled.

Granger couldn't stay impassive through the Cruciatus. No one could. And so she let out one long scream, which cut off into whisper.

Sirius aimed and whispered, "Stupefy!" Rodolphus went down, crumpling to the ground. Bellatrix turned in one fluid motion, hair flying.

"Blood traitor," she spat. "I thought you'd have the good sense to run off and hide. Do you have a deathwish like your little Mudblood pet here? _Incarcerous!_ "

He barely dodged it, even with all the practice he'd gotten avoiding his mother's spells. And from duels in the corridors, those too. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, shooting a Stupefy at her that she effortlessly deflected.

Bella, never one to make the same mistake twice, grabbed Granger by her hair and hauled her to feet, holding her limp body like a shield. Granger did struggle this time, thrashing back and forth and putting up what might have been an admirable fight had she not all the strength of a sleepy child. "You _idiot!_ " Granger whisper-yelled. " _Run!_ "

At that point Sirius felt he could safely assume that Granger and Bellatrix were not on the same side, but something ugly reared its head and without stopping to think he cast another Stupefy, this one aimed straight at Granger. It struck and she slumped in Bellatrix's grasp. Bellatrix didn't seem to care that her human shield had been hit, just grinning even wider.

"See, little blood traitor? You're no better than the rest of us. Avada Kedavra!"

That little stutter, that moment in which his body froze up, would be his undoing. The bottle-green spell hit him square in the chest.

*|II8II|*

Hermione took a moment longer to wake up than Rodolphus did.

Her vision swam, she could hardly hear, and everything ached. She felt like she could vomit up her insides. Scratch that, it didn't ache. That was like saying a bullet wound "ached". She hurt everywhere.

Even worse, she wasn't even remotely safe. In fact, Bellatrix's wand was pointed directly at her face. "Get up!" She barked, a maniacal gleam in her hooded eyes. Hermione considered herself fairly well acquainted with the woman's moods, and that could only spell victory.

Sirius. Oh, _Merlin_ , Sirius. It took effort to turn her head, but there he was- a pile of corpse and clothes several feet away. She'd risked the bloody future for him, and he'd gotten himself killed anyway? Oh, _Gods._

Her stomach heaved, tears streaming down her cheeks. She could hardly breathe, hardly think, and in that moment she might have accepted death gladly. Though her grief didn't fade, her suicidal urges did as soon as she felt the tug of Bellatrix's hand in her hair. It was Bellatrix. Always Bellatrix. Always Sirius, barreling headfirst into situations even though she had it on pretty good authority that he'd hated her up until his last breath.

The Lestranges were talking, but Hermione couldn't focus. Her limbs flailed against her bonds, even though they all knew it was useless. She was useless. Why couldn't he have just _run?_

It wasn't even noon, and her world had already disintegrated into dust.

She was barely aware of being dragged away. She barely registered the appearance of half a dozen men and women in black robes and white skull masks. What she did register, though, was the searing heat of an Incendio to the side of her throat.

It was Bellatrix, probably. Or... who was the most sadistic of them? Her thoughts were scattered. Maybe Lucius. No, not him. Greyback? Dolohov? Shite. It didn't matter.

"Am I to see-" she had to stop to hack her lungs out, still feeling as though her windpipe had split in half. "-your Lord now?" She had to pull herself together. There would be time to grieve later, but now she had to protect her mind and her life. She had to.

There was no response. Not a very talkative bunch? Good, she didn't feel like using her voice at all if possible. It hurt to even breathe, much less force a sound out of her abused vocal cords.

The adrenaline in her body faded bit by bit as they all seemed to be standing, doing nothing. Just waiting. It made her uneasy, but her body decided that there was no immediate danger. Exhaustion crept in and muddled her thoughts again.

She could say one thing for the Death Eaters- they let her fall asleep.

Not that they could have stopped her, really. The moment her eyes shut her body disappeared.


End file.
